
filass 1 1 (n ??. 7 



Book 



f ""» 






Copyright N? 



CDFffilGRT DEPOSni 



BEHIND 
THE GERMAN LINES 

A NARRATIVE OF THE EVERYDAY 

LIFE OF AN AMERICAN 

PRISONER OF V^AR 



BY 



RALPH E. ELLINWOOD 

s. s. u. 621 

U. S. A. A. S. 



Ubc IP^ntcfterbocJ^er press 

NEW YORK 
1920 



l^g^A 



Copyright, 1920 
By R. E. ELLINWOOD 



JUL 19 1920 



©CI.A571730 



Dedicated 

TO 

THE MEMORY OF MY HEROIC COMRADES WHO WERE 
MURDERED BEHIND THE GERMAN LINES 



PREFACE 

" How did the Germans treat you ? " That question was asked 
me so often on my return to America that I decided to write, 
for the information of my friends who have manifested such a 
kindly interest in our experience, a full account of what happened 
to my comrades and myself during my seven months behind the 
German Hnes as a prisoner of war. This is not an exciting story, 
for the life of a prisoner was at best a most wearisome existence. 
Yet the life in itself was so different from anything I had known 
before that there was for me always an endless interest which 
tended to lessen the hardships and the sense of danger. 



Ralph E. Ellin wood. 



BiSBEE, Arizona, 
September i, igiQ- 



CONTENTS 






PAGE 


Preface 


V 


CHAPTER 




L— Captured . . . . 


I 


IL — Mont Notre Dame 


13 


III. — Laon 


48 


IV. — Langensalza ...... 


79 


V. — Eschenbergen 


90 


VI. — Illeben . . . . . 


107 


VII. — Langensalza .... . . 


143 


VIIL— Cassel — ^Repatriation 


156 



Vll 



ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

The Author ....... Frontispiece '^ 

Mont Notre Dame Hospital . . . .25' 

The Kaiser during his Visit to the Hospital . . 34 - 

Village and Church of Mont Notre Dame . . .46 



IX 



Behind the German Lines 



CHAPTER I 

CAPTURED 

Section Sanitaire U. 621 had been relieved from 
duty along with the 74th French Division to which it 
was attached, early in May, when the English took 
over the sector northwest of Rheims. We had just 
gotten comfortably settled in the grounds of an old 
chateau owned by a Polish prince by the name of 
Poniatowski. There we enjoyed an idle life of repose, 
wandering around the grounds, reading in the shade 
of its stately elms, or watching the fish play among 
the lily pads in the ancient moat. Only an occasional 
boche avion, regularly shelled by the French anti- 
aircraft guns, reminded us that we lay somewhere 
behind the Hnes. Then, hurried orders came for us 
to move to Pernant, eight kilometers west of Soissons. 

During one of the few afternoons before leaving, 
another driver and I strayed down to the meadow and 
talked over what the future possibly held in store for 
the Section. It was remarked that we had had too 



2 Behind the German Lines 

easy an existence, for since I had joined the Section, 
in December, 191 7, we had suffered nothing more 
than one shelHng of our cantonment and an occa- 
sional piece of eclat in one or more of the ambulances. 
We came to the conclusion that we were headed for 
the Somme, and that meant, if the rumors were true, 
that we were to undergo a heavy punishment during 
the coming weeks. Yet, I believe that most of us 
were anxious to get into a big battle. 

We had been at Pernant only a few days, quartered 
in a frame schoolhouse, when, on the evening of May 
26th, a call came in for three ambulances for detached 
duty with the Medecine Divisionaire, chief doctor for 
the division. Everyone wanted to go, such a call 
being considered a pleasant change from the usual 
routine work, and at the time it meant getting on the 
road again and away from camp. The lot fell to 
Jack Savoy, of Holyoke, Massachusetts, who spoke 
excellent French, to P. L. Bixby, of Long Beach, 
California, and myself. The call in itself indicated 
a movement. If there were any rumors concerning a 
German attack, I do not recall them, but as I look back 
there seems to have been an atmosphere of excite- 
ment and pending action. We pulled out, Jack in 
the lead, following the road toward Soissons, crossing 
the river Aisne north towards Pommiers and then 
west to Osly-Courtil, where, as our permi rouge read, 
we were to be stationed. We parked our cars in the 
small Place des Etats-Unis, under the foliage of the 
bordering trees, which offered a splendid camouflage. 
There we waited until the doctor should need us. 



Captured 3 

Osly-Courtil was divisional headquarters and thus 
full of staff cars, coming and going, with their lights 
piercing the darkness ; others with no lights crawling 
quietly into the village to avoid detection. Now and 
then a camion would rumble through the village. 
We could not sleep, although we had rolled into our 
blankets on stretchers in the back of our cars. 

An orderly informed us, about midnight, that a car 
would be needed at 4.30 a.m., to go to Crouy. We 
tossed for it, and the lot fell to me. It was about that 
time, a little before or after midnight, that the front 
broke into a long rumble, rolling like heavy thunder — 
an ominous foreboding. None of the shells was hit- 
ting near, so we dozed off for a few hours. At four 
o'clock I drove over to the officers' quarters. The 
French doctor and his aide were waiting, and we put 
his rather bulky equipment in the rear of the car. 
Recrossing the Aisne we headed for Soissons. The 
doctor, a slight man of perhaps fifty years, with a 
kindly face and gentle eyes, remained silent, save for 
spasmodic remarks offering me advice on my driving. 
If a shell hit on the road ahead of us he exclaimed, 
doMcement! or, if we heard an explosion behind us, 
his exclamation was, allez toute suite! 

We passed through Soissons shortly after daylight. 
Never shall I forget the strained expressions on the 
faces of the civilians who, from their doorsteps, were 
watching the few cars that were hurrying through the 
almost deserted streets. Only a few days before, 
several of us had driven into the city for provisions. 
The shops were then open, the vegetables and meats 



4 Behind the German Lines 

temptingly displayed, and the inhabitants apparently 
forgetful that they were living directly under the 
German guns. But this morning Soissons was 
awake early, watching and waiting for the devel- 
opments of the battle of which the bombardment 
was only a forewarning. Over the Pont Neuf, across 
the Aisne, and three kilometers out to Crouy, we 
hurried. 

The summer before I had worked in the French 
transport service, in this vicinity, and I enjoyed the 
familiar scenes, noting a few changes here and there, 
but the most conspicuous were the results of the pre- 
vious night's shelling. Fresh shell-holes lay along 
the road, where the boche had attempted to destroy 
supply trains going up to the lines. At Crouy we 
swung into a courtyard. My orders were to wait. 
Crouy was then the object of Austrian * ' whizz-bangs, ' ' 
a high velocity shell which explodes almost as quickly 
as the noise of its approach is heard. Having had no 
breakfast, I grabbed my cup and hunted up a French 
kitchen, which I found across the street. There I 
poked my head in the door and asked for some coffee. 
A French officer — for I had intruded into an officers' 
mess — offered me coffee, bread, and confiture, a very 
acceptable meal. When I returned to the car I found 
the doctor was waiting, and we drove to another 
courtyard in the village. The doctor ordered me to 
remain in a wine cellar which he pointed out, 
while he himself hunted quarters for his first aid 
station. The shelling had steadily increased, so that 
I was perfectly satisfied to remain under cover. 



Captured 5 

Once in a while I went to the entrance, but only to 
duck back when a shell hit close. 

About noon the doctor came down and told me my 
car was full of wounded. Allez a Vassemy toute suite 
was his order, as he gently helped into his coat a 
poilu wounded in the shoulder. The roads were 
becoming packed and the dust rose with the heavy 
traffic. Ambulances raced in and out, having the 
right of way; dispatch riders tore along, all covered 
with the white dust. I avoided Soissons, taking the 
road towards Vailly along the river, which I crossed 
just south of Bucy-le-Long, joining the Soissons- 
Rheims road near Venizel. The railroad station 
there resembled a pepper-box, and what was once a 
locomotive lay scattered over the torn-up tracks. 
There I took a road, going through a bit of woods, 
which had been occupied by mounted troops. Here 
the roads were torn by shell-fire and a horse or two 
lay dead amid the fragments of foliage stripped from 
the trees. My heart almost bled at the tragedy 
significantly told along the road from there on to 
Vassemy. A child's slipper, an old man's cane, a torn 
straw hat, a bit of woman's finery, and over it rolled 
the equipment of war — soldiers walking and riding, 
trucks, ammunition caissons, heavy guns, behind 
groaning caterpillars, and here and there a few 
wounded, tired and haggard, carrying some bloody 
trace of the night and morning's battle, as they 
walked back to a hospital. I gave one a lift on my 
already loaded car. He would not leave his pack, so 
I dumped it on the fender. How unlike an American 



6 Behind the German Lines 

— ^in the worst hour of suffering the French hold fast 
to their small earthly possessions, which is probably 
due to their national characteristic of thrift. 

Just before reaching Vassemy hospital, a French 
avion had hit a boche plane. As the latter fell, he 
sprinkled the road with his mitrailleuse, which caused 
the mounted troops ahead of me to spread on each 
side of the road as little puffs of dust arose marking 
where the bullets hit. I turned in time to see the 
boche dig his nose in the field and his machine burst 
into flames. 

Vassemy was overcrowded, and we were turned 
away with orders to go on to Mont Notre Dame, 
three or four miles distant. As I swung back on the 
highway, I caught a glimpse of the stretcher cases 
being loaded on to a waiting hospital train. 

I went on. Braisne, as I had known it less than 
two weeks before, was far from being the same when 
I bumped over its cobblestones. Now, no soldiers 
loitered around, the stores on the main street were 
closed, and great holes gaped in the deserted houses 
and streets. As I turned off the main street and 
crossed the Vesle by the small dam where we had 
gone swimming while at Lime, I found a huge limb of 
one of the trees bordering the road nearly blocking 
the way, and, just beyond, an English ambulance was 
drawn up beside the road with its engine torn away 
and two pools of blood in the empty seat. I shud- 
dered and wondered when my turn was coming. 
Past the crossroads at Lime and on to the hos- 
pital I went, only to fall in behind a long line of 



Captured 7 

ambulances waiting their turn to be emptied at the 
triage. 

It should be explained that in entering the hospital 
from the road, one turned to the right, ran up a sharp 
grade for twenty yards, and, after thirty or forty 
yards more of level road, turned to the left, between 
two barracks, with a roof connecting them, where the 
cars were unloaded. If this description is clear, it 
will be noted that the triage or receiving station was 
invisible from the road, and might easily and rather 
quickly be approached without seeing those who were 
at the entrance. 

After my car was emptied, I returned to Crouy, 
where, after a two hours' absence, I was unable to 
find the corner where I had been parked that morning. 
Not only had the corner building been wrecked, but 
the whole village looked different, so heavy had the 
shelling been while I was away. I finally found our 
French lieutenant, with some drivers of the Section. 
As our division had not gone into action, and we were 
not to be assigned any regular work until they did go 
into the lines, we were ordered back to a grove of 
trees just off the road, half way between Soissons and 
Crouy. There we remained all the afternoon, eigh- 
teen cars of the Section well camouflaged under the 
trees, and the drivers resting on the grass. Trucks 
full of infantry going up to the front rolled by on the 
road, half hidden in the choking dust; ambulances 
hurrying to the rear dodged in and out among them ; 
light artillery lumbered forward, and now and then a 
big gun passed to the rear, We inquired from men 



8 Behind the German Lines 

coming from the lines how the fight was going, but 
reports were contradictory. 

Overhead, enemy and aUied avions were numerous, 
some directing artillery fire, others fighting their own 
battles to the end, but all of them apparently obliv- 
ious to the anti-aircraft guns that spotted the sky 
with puffs of white smoke. Those two or three hours 
that we lay there were a strain on us, although we 
tried not to show it. The conditions under which we 
had worked up to this time had been really common- 
place compared to the offensive that was now in 
progress, and we realized when we should be assigned 
work within the next few hours to do it would take 
all the nerve we had and more too. The back area 
shelling was just as heavy as that directed on the 
front lines, and things were certainly popping all the 
afternoon. 

"Colonel" Cain, of Missouri, and I were sitting in 
my car, eating an afternoon meal of canned salmon 
and bread, when a big shell hit the railroad station at 
St. Medard, north of Soissons. A minute later an- 
other hit some hundred yards closer than the first, 
another minute and a third hit with the same short- 
ened range. *' Colonel" mumbled, ''Another and we 
shall be in direct ..." Then came a loud 
whistle, and the green field a hundred feet in front of 
us rose in a black cloud, with a terrific explosion, and 
the eclats whizzed past our heads clipping the leaves 
or burying themselves in the trunks of the trees be- 
hind us. We jumped and stretched out on the grass. 

About seven o'clock the French lieutenant returned 



Captured 9 

and began assigning posts. Having been the last one 
in the party on duty, Savoy and Bixby being still at 
Osly, I was last on the list, and accompanied Sergeant 
Kenneth A. Wood, of Buffalo, and J. D. Crary, of 
Brooklyn, to Missy-sur-Aisne, awaiting there in the 
dugout under the church any extra call that might 
come in. 

Before leaving Lime, I had stocked my car with 
canned goods, tobacco, and cigarettes. That par- 
ticular evening, while awaiting a call, I went out to 
my car and looked over the supply. Some bayonets 
that I had saved for souvenirs I threw away and also 
destroyed several letters I had written home. I was 
familiar with the report of how the Huns treated 
captured non-combatants carrying arms, and I also 
realized that my position was such that I could be 
very easily captured. But little did I realize how 
wise these precautions were, in view of what was to 
follow. 

We had been at Missy less than an hour, chatting 
with the French hrancardiers on duty there, and 
drinking pinard, when Frank Conly of Brooklyn 
dropped in on his way down from the post at Conde, 
and said that another car was wanted there. I went 
on up. The night was dark and the white road, now 
deserted, was plainly visible as it stretched ahead. 
Half way there on my right a long barrack used as a 
stable was blazing brightly and lit up the road for 
over a mile. It was here that I met Baker. ' ' Where 
is the post at Conde?" I called out. 

First courtyard to the right. You can't miss the 



10 Behind the German Lines 

gate with the high pillars," he answered; "the post is 
in a dugout." 

The shelling had died down. The evening seemed 
unusually quiet when I drew up at the post. A 
hrancardier came up from the dugout when he heard 
my car and accompanied me down. There the young 
officer on duty informed me that there were not 
enough wounded to fill my car, couchez-vous pour un 
moment. The dugout was a spacious affair, some 
twenty feet underground, large enough for half a 
dozen cots, and well equipped for a first aid station. 
Presently another case was brought down. When 
the necessary tagging and paper work were done, the 
car was loaded and I was handed the billets. One 
stretcher case and three sitting cases. 

*'Vassemy" were my orders. Back over the road 
toward Missy and from there to the left across the 
river road over the Aisne I hurried. A road could 
not have been more deserted at midnight even had 
there been no war. No lights, the trees throwing 
faint shadows over the road and appearing as dull 
shadows themselves. The road opened up smooth 
ahead, from an apparent nowhere ; there was no move- 
ment save that of my car, and no noise save the 
distant thud of shells. At Sermoise I passed an Amer- 
ican ambulance (I was then on the Soissons-Rheims 
road). I stopped, and found the driver was WilHam 
Heckert of our Section, with a load of wounded. He 
had become lost in his attempt to find Vassemy. As 
I was going there, I told him to follow me. A few 
miles farther on and we swung into Vassemy, past 



Captured n 

some trucks that were lying inside the entrance, and 
on up to the triage. Ted Lockwood's car was there 
and soon Ted appeared with some water for one of his 
patients. 

It was only then that we realized that the hospital 
had just been evacuated, and that these trucks were 
carrying away the last supplies. The three of us 
then held council, trying to decide whether to go on 
to Vierzy, directly to the rear, or on to Mont Notre 
Dame hospital, where I had been that noon and which 
was much nearer. We decided on the latter, as a 
wounded Frenchman in one of the cars asked us to 
hurry. Lockwood led. Just before we reached 
Braisne, we turned off to the right, up the steep hill 
which overlooks the city, thus avoiding the city itself, 
which was on fire, as near as we could judge. We 
knew that the main street was badly pitted with holes. 
This route was a little out of our way, but it was a 
matter of safety for the wounded. Coming down the 
hill we passed mounted troops resting beside the road, 
and one of their number asked to be taken into the 
hospital, as he was wounded in the foot. Ted picked 
him up. Although this road was narrow and seldom 
used in ordinary times, it had suffered a heavy shell- 
ing as was shown by the holes. Lime, which was 
just beyond, was intact, as far as we could see in the 
dark. At the crossroads, where we came to the road 
which we would have taken had we not turned off be- 
fore reaching Braisne, Lockwood stopped, explaining 
that he had to change a spark plug and told us to go 
on. 



12 Behind the German Lines 

It was here at the crossroads that we passed 
French machine gunners, lying in the shadow of the 
bushes bordering the road. Their guns were not set 
up. I passed Ted, followed by Heckert. Two miles 
more and we swung off the main road, up the sharp 
incline to the right, again to the left, and slowed up in 
front of the triage. It was then that I noticed the 
German helmets and a large number of bayonets 
among the crowd gathered between the two barracks. 
My first thought was that the French had taken some 
prisoners. Then, like a flash, the situation dawned 
on me. I was the prisoner ! 



CHAPTER II 

MONT NOTRE DAME 

'Tut up your hands," came a gruff command in 
broken English. There was no argument. I was 
looking into the barrel of a luger. 

As I got out of my car, I turned, in the hopes of 
warning Lockwood and Heckert, but they were 
directly behind me. 

As quickly as we had become the center of atten- 
tion of the crowd at the triage, as quickly were we 
forgotten, although we were informed that if we 
attempted escape we would be shot. 

I tried to make apologies to the wounded, as I 
helped them out of my car, for my having been the 
means of their capture. The Frenchmen were very 
polite, saying that it could not be helped, but from 
the look in their eyes I realized that for them the 
situation could hardly have been worse — wounded 
and prisoners in German hands ! 

I drifted among the crowd, trying to find out what 
had happened and how the hospital was taken. I 
soon learned that the hospital had been captured only 
about twenty minutes before, by the first German 
line as it advanced, and that only the guards were 

13 



14 Behind the German Lines 

left there. There had been time for the personnel of 
the hospital to get away, but all had volunteered to 
remain with the wounded. 

In the dark it was difficult to tell who was in the 
crowd in front of the triage, French doctors talked 
excitedly, emphasizing their words with gestures; 
English doctors awaited calmly for developments; 
French nurses, in their long dark capes, grouped 
silently with the doctors, and among them all were 
the French and English orderlies and the German 
guards. I accosted an Englishman, supposing that 
he was one of the ambulance drivers working that 
sector, but I soon learned that he was one of the 
doctors. The German guards, with their barbarian 
looking helmets and fixed bayonets, kept wandering 
among us peering insolently into our faces. The 
harsh German language and the broken English and 
French spoken with a guttural accent jarred on our 
ears. In the succeeding months French became more 
like our own native tongue, while the German lan- 
guage always remained foreign. 

We had thought of escape, and wandered away 
from the crowd, only to be followed by a guard and 
motioned back. There was no use to go any farther, 
for we learned that some Italians had been shot while 
attempting to get away. Moreover, there was work 
to be done right there among our own wounded. 

Earlier in the day a hospital train had been ex- 
pected. Had it arrived the hospital would have been 
evacuated before it was captured. In preparation 
for this train many of the wounded had been taken 



Mont Notre Dame 15 

from the wards down to the station or placed in rows 
on their stretchers outside the wards. It was now 
necessary to get these poor fellows back to bed. We 
began taking them into the wards. I worked with 
Mile. Bedts, a French nurse, who proved to be, as 
did the other nurses, most heroic, patient, and faith- 
ful to duty in the following two months at the hos- 
pital. We began with those who were most seriously 
wounded, leaving those who were sleeping until the 
last. By four in the morning we had gotten them all 
to bed. I can see even now as I write, the senior 
nurse tiptoeing down the aisle of the ward with her 
dark lantern, rearranging a blanket here and there, 
or whispering a word of cheer to one of the patients 
who had not fallen asleep. What a disappointing 
surprise the next morning for those wounded who had 
slept through the whole evening and who would wake 
up to find themselves behind the German lines. 

Among all of the wounded there was only one 
American, an ambulance driver of S. S. U. 646, 
Harry K. James, who had been wounded by a bomb 
the previous day. 

Following the instructions of Mile Bedts, Lock- 
wood, Heckert, and I found beds in a half -filled ward. 
It took us but a minute to get to sleep once we were 
in bed. 

Never in my life do I wish to awaken with such a 
hopeless feeling as I did the next morning, when I 
opened my eyes at eight o'clock. Outside, anti- 
aircraft shrapnel was bursting overhead and I could 
hear the drone of the propellers. But that was 



i6 Behind the German Lines 

nothing. *'A prisoner in German hands" ran 
through my head over and over again. No communi- 
cation with those on our side of the Hne, no news from 
home, and a very doubtful future, if all reports were 
to be believed. It was not so much what it meant to 
me personally, but the report of my being missing 
would be known to those at home. 

Someone was moving in the ward, then I heard 
whispering in Italian. I changed my gaze from the 
whitewashed ceiling to the length of the aisle. An 
Italian hobbled in, his foot limp and bleeding. 
Excitedly he explained that he had tried to escape and 
was shot. Other patients began to search among 
their clothes for letters and orders, which were thrown 
into the stove. In the next few days the process of 
destroying printed matter that might be useful to the 
enemy was a common scene. 

We dressed, and shortly Mile. Bedts came in with 
a cheerful smile and asked how we had slept. 

Mile. Bedts was rather large, not typically French 
in stature, though well proportioned and straight; 
and, as we learned later, stronger than most men. 
She chatted with us a few minutes, talking heatedly 
against the Germans, yet hopeful concerning the 
whole affair. Reminding us that it would be best to 
destroy all written and printed matter we had with us 
she offered to take care of any valuables we had lest 
we were searched and lose them. I gave her my 
watch. 

We offered our services for anything that would be 
of help to her. She accepted and led the way, going 



Mont Notre Dame 17 

through the barracks as much as possible and avoid- 
ing open spaces and the German guards. In an 
officer's ward she gave us breakfast, coffee and bread. 

Then we began work. Two officers had died dur- 
ing the night and their bodies had to be taken to the 
morgue. We put them on stretchers. Mile. Bedts 
and I took the first stretcher, and Lockwood and 
Heckert the other. My respect and admiration for 
Mile. Bedts was established that morning, when she 
showed so much courage and coolness in the following 
incident : 

The morgue lay some three hundred yards from the 
wards proper, among a group of buildings which com- 
prised a carpenter shop, a laundry, and a sterilizing 
plant. As we approached the morgue, a shell 
whistled in and hit a lumber pile just behind the 
morgue, about fifty yards from us. Mile. Bedts kept 
on, with the cheerful remark: ''Come on, no need of 
stopping for that." It seemed foolhardy to go on, 
but if she showed no fear, it was certainly not my 
place to object, and she continued coolly on. An- 
other shell came whining in and exploded much 
nearer. Mile. Bedts proceeded without a word. 
Still another shell ! This time we were within thirty 
feet of the morgue. Mile. Bedts lowered her end of 
the stretcher and laughingly exclaimed: ''We better 
lie down!" We did, and just in time. The eclat 
whizzed over our heads as the explosion tore the air. 
"Allons! Let us get these in before the next shell 
hits," she exclaimed. We hurried on, fumbling with 
the latch, and finally laid the bodies inside. As we 



i8 Behind the German Lines 

ran from the morgue another shell came in, digging 
up the ground between the morgue and the carpenter 
shop. 

We went back to the officers' ward and removed the 
rest of the patients over to the ward of which Mile. 
Bedts had direct charge, Salle 3. Lockwood, who 
spoke French fluently, remained there, and became 
Mile. Bedts's right-hand man. 

Heckert and I, having nothing to do, wandered out, 
trying to get a little of the lay of the camp, and to 
see what had happened to the cars. We found them 
where we had left them on the previous night. The 
things we had in them we took out. Tobacco, ciga- 
rettes, a few cans of food, a blanket roll, and our packs. 
It was then that we noticed the cars had been tam- 
pered with, and we finished the job of ruining them 
for further use by the Huns. The last that I saw of 
them was several weeks later, when one of them 
passed on a Red Cross truck, bound for the rear. 
My sincere hope is that the cars were beyond repair, 
at least with the wiring pulled out, and a monkey- 
wrench in the gears, and the tires cut, they would 
cause some mechanic a lot of work. 

That noon we accepted Mile. Bedts's kind invita- 
tion for dinner with the nurses in their quarters. 
There were about twenty in the party, so that we 
three Americans were decidedly outnumbered. But 
that made no difference, for our hostesses were 
delightful and the dinner delicious, especially as it 
was the first hot meal we had had for two days. The 
atmosphere of their quarters was restful and home- 



Mont Notre Dame 19 

like. The only interruption to the meal was by a 
boche avion, who used his machine gun on the hospi- 
tal rather promiscuously, and then ended the per- 
formance by dropping a small bomb just outside, 
between two of the wards near by. All remained at 
the table, except one nurse, who went to her room and 
returned with a helmet on. The nurses took the 
situation coolly, merely scolding roundly the im- 
pudence of the boche. 

Later, another boche avion came over, flying low 
and using his machine gun on the hospital. Heckert 
and I at the time were under a large oak tree, in 
the small plaza in the center of the hospital grounds, 
and we moved behind this, keeping one behind the 
other, always opposite the boche. 

What object the aviator had in using us as a tar- 
get, when we were already prisoners, was more than 
I could judge. Perhaps it was the German idea of 
sport. 

That afternoon we found an empty barrack va- 
cated by the officers, and tried to catch up in our 
sleep. This barrack became our sleeping quarters for 
several nights until we decided that it might be safer 
to move. Allied shells had been hitting in that 
vicinity. 

During those first few days, the Germans had 
placed a battery of guns just outside the hospital 
grounds, among a group of trees, on the western side. 
This battery was the cause, in my opinion, of the 
occasional shells that hit within the hospital grounds. 
The Allies, in trying to locate this battery, could not 



20 Behind the German Lines 

help but drop a few shells short, and these fell danger- 
ously near the wards. 

One evening, before we had moved, several shells 
hit near our vacant barrack, so we hurried over to a 
part of the grounds which appeared to be out of 
range, and there spent the remainder of the night 
rolled up in our blankets, sheltered by the sandbags 
that were used as a protection for the wards. On 
another evening, we hurried from our beds to a dug- 
out between two of the wards. We had just gotten 
under cover, when a shell hit at the opposite opening 
from that by which we had entered, throwing the 
sand and dirt the length of the dugout, but injuring 
only one man. Had the shell hit three feet farther, 
it would have probably killed all in the dugout. 

The next day we began work in Salle 3, under direc- 
tion of Mile. Bedts. Ambulance driving had not 
included hospital work before, so that we were rather 
out of place for a few days. The work consisted of 
bathing the patients in the morning, keeping the ward 
clean, and serving the meals. There were two 
nurses in the ward. Mile. Bedts and Mile. Michaudet, 
two French orderlies, and a French sergeant in charge. 
The amount of work that we Americans did in the 
first few days was not great, but we soon fell into the 
routine and did what w*e could. We took our meals 
in the serving room of the ward after the patients had 
finished and having the same food as they. 

The supply of food that was in the hospital when it 
was captured was exhausted after a week, with the ex- 
ception of chocolate, canned milk, and tea, which 



Mont Notre Dame 21 

lasted for some time. After that, the meals could no 
longer be described as meals, for they consisted only 
of soup and black bread, with now and then an issue 
of jam or butter. When the hospital supply of coffee 
ran out, the Germans served their own imitation 
coffee made from roasted barley. The soup in com- 
parison to what we later had was very good, being 
made for the most part from barley or rice or noodles, 
with some meat. Patients in a critical condition 
were served special food, this consisting of rice bread, 
boiled rice, hot cocoa, and dried fruit. 

After the Germans had taken over the supervision 
of the kitchens, the meals, in place of being only three 
a day, were changed to five, although the amount of 
food remained about the same — the German meal 
being very simple. 

The morning after we were captured, a German ob- 
servation balloon was directly overhead. Observa- 
tion balloons, placed four or five miles apart, are 
usually two or three miles behind the first line, so 
that we were able to know about how far we were 
from the front. 

With each succeeding day the line of ballons ad- 
vanced south, and we could see as many as eight or 
nine stretched along the horizon. We realized as 
these appeared farther and farther away, that the 
boche was still advancing. 

Notwithstanding the evidence of the German push, 
there was not a prisoner with whom I talked, who 
doubted the eventual success of the Allies, and I am 
sure that I did not, for I believed that the enemy 



22 Behind the German Lines 

would go just so far, spending his strength as he had 
done on the Somme, only to be stopped at the 
critical point. 

Nevertheless, any rumors were more than welcome, 
though many of them we had to take with a grain of 
salt, for it is part of the German nature to exaggerate 
in favor of themselves, and to minimize the success of 
their enemies. 

That first week or ten days we continued working 
in the ward under Mile. Bedts. It was in this ward 
that Harry K. James lay. With the operation just 
over and the piece of bomb removed from his side, he 
was forbidden any except liquid food for ten days. 
He pleaded humorously with the nurses and doctors 
to be allowed something more, but when they laugh- 
ingly refused him, he good-naturedly resigned himself 
to a state of hunger. The social circle of the four 
American prisoners centered at his bedside. Our 
spirits were never allowed to become morbid and we 
owe James much for his cheerfulness. 

The work in the ward became interesting, even 
though the hours were long. There was the lieuten- 
ant who, though not seriously wounded, was gradually 
fading away, and who demanded much attention. 
We gladly did all we could for him. All of the 
fifty patients had their own peculiarities, although 
most of them suffered silently, undergoing painful 
dressings with hardly a murmur. At times I was 
called into the dressing-room to lend a hand in band- 
aging, but that usually fell to Lockwood. 

When the prisoners, or rather the personnel of the 



Mont Notre Dame 23 

hospital, had been Hsted, and the Germans found 
that we three Americans were working together, in 
the same ward with the regular attendants, we were 
assigned to other wards. Lockwood became an 
assistant to a French doctor in another ward. Heck- 
ert and I were sent over to Salle i6 to work with two 
French orderlies. 

We had three shifts in the day. One of us and a 
Frenchman worked in the morning from six o'clock 
until noon, and were relieved until six in the evening, 
when the two that had worked in the morning went 
on the night shift. The Frenchman with whom I 
worked was nearly forty-five years old, had been in 
the war for four years, and was a prisoner for the 
third time. The first time he was captured he was 
in the infantry and was taken when wounded, but 
was returned after three months; the second time 
he was acting as a stretcher bearer when captured and 
was released after two months, and now, the third 
time, found him accustomed to the Germans and 
quite positive that his stay would be as short as before. 

Many of the incidents at the hospital are best left 
unwritten, yet each of them contains its element of 
pathos and humor. The patients bore their suffering 
quietly, accepting their condition as a matter of fact, 
and permitting their natural cheerfulness to carry 
them through the long days of recuperation. We 
remarked over and over again how splendid these 
men were. No wonder the Germans had been un- 
able to conquer such a spirit in the French race. 

The contrast in the mental attitude of the Hun and 



24 Behind the German Lines 

his prisoners, was very noticeable. The Hun, al- 
though successful in this drive, was not nearly as 
cheerful as were the prisoners. 

The guards had an expression of discontent, and 
even among themselves showed little satisfaction 
over the situation. The German doctors, who were 
the officers of the field ambulance which took over 
the hospital, went about their work silently and with 
that overbearing manner that is so typical of the 
German. 

On the other hand, the prisoners for the most part, 
regardless of their unhappy situation, went about 
their work with a smile and a glad word for each other. 
Of course, we hated the Huns, hated their manner- 
isms, their language, and the very sight of them. 

The nurses were truly angels of mercy, as much in 
the mental influence they exercised over the wounded, 
in not allowing them to become downhearted, as in 
their work. Mile. Bedts, no matter how long the day 
nor how hard the work, attended the wounded with 
the greatest kindliness and without ever allowing 
herself to show weariness for an instant. It seemed 
that her strength and spirits were unfailing. In 
place of using a stretcher to take the patients to the 
dressing-room, she would pick them up in her arms and 
walk the length of the ward, if need be, and place 
them gently on the table. Not only did she work 
continuously through the day, but if there were an 
air raid on the neighboring ammunition dumps, rail- 
road station, or aviation hangars, she would go to her 
ward and remain with the wounded. 




< 

H 
Ol 
V> 

o 

X 
bJ 

s 

< 
o 

ui 

DC 

H 
O 

z 

Z 

o 

s 



Mont Notre Dame 25 

Those air raids were a terrible strain on the 
wounded. The bombs hitting so near, although not 
in the hospital grounds, shook the buildings with 
their concussion, and it seemed that the avions were 
directly overhead, so loud was the drone of the 
machines. The Germans placed their anti-aircraft 
machine guns within the hospital grounds, and 
these were as nerve racking, with their ominous 
"rat-tat-tat-tat," as were the bombs. Of course, 
placing the guns there was a violation of the rules 
of warfare, but that made no difference to the 
boche. 

The ammunition dumps were within five hundred 
yards of the hospital, and the hangars on the ridge of 
hills to the west, while the railroad ran past the 
hospital, with a special siding for it. But the Ger- 
mans used this siding for ammunition trains as much 
as for hospital trains. 

The Germans, moreover, marched troops through 
the main street of the hospital, using it as a short cut 
for their transports to the southern road. 

Mont Notre Dame hospital, near the town of that 
name, lay on a rise of ground between the Vesle River 
and the plateau that rose on the south. It was one 
of the largest and best hospitals on that front, being 
composed of over a hundred wards, with quarters for 
the personnel, buildings for the supplies, a large 
central kitchen, several operating theaters, and five 
immense hangars which were used in case of an 
overflow. The French occupied a greater part of the 
hospital, although the English had taken over a part 



26 Behind the German Lines 

of it when they had taken up a portion of the hne in 
the neighboring sector. 

When the Germans captured it the night of the 
27th of May, they let the work continue, as if nothing 
had happened. For the first few days there were 
practically no Germans there, except a few guards. 
Then a field ambulance took charge, but even then 
the French and English continued to care for their 
own wounded. As the line moved farther to the 
south, the hospital changed only in name, and became 
known as a Kriegs-Lazarett, or a war hospital, which 
is the same as a base hospital. Only German doctors 
were allowed to operate on the German wounded, al- 
though the French were used as orderlies in conjunc- 
tion with the Germans. The French and English 
had offered their services, which the Huns refused. 
Later, however, when the wounded were pouring 
into the hospital in great numbers, after the Chateau- 
Thierry fight, the allied doctors were asked to render 
assistance, but they refused, in turn stating that they 
were no more to be trusted than previously. 

Some two or three weeks after the hospital had 
been taken, German nurses arrived from the rear to 
do their share. A more incompetent body of women 
I have never seen in my life. They were older than 
the French nurses, plain, and severe looking, and, as 
I learned later, quite as disagreeable as the German 
men. 

The German soldiers looted the supply rooms of 
the hospital during the first few days after our cap- 
ture, helping themselves to shoes, clothing, and any 



Mont Notre Dame 27 

other articles that suited their taste. Nor were the 
officers above such actions, for they could not resist 
the temptation of taking food from the storerooms. 

The result of stealing clothing had a startling effect, 
for the Germans were not averse to wearing whatever 
they could lay their hands on, so long as it served the 
purpose and was of good material. An Allied soldier 
would not think of wearing any part of a German 
uniform, but not so with the Hun. If he were able to 
obtain a pair of breeches, leggings, or other apparel, 
he wore them. The result was that he might be the 
proud possessor of English puttees, French breeches, 
and American shoes. In such a case it became diffi- 
cult at times to tell whether the soldier was friend or 
enemy, especially if he were not wearing the little 
round fatigue cap that is so distinctively German. 
My own leather puttees were the source of envy to 
several Huns. I finally sold them, figuring that the 
German marks might come in useful, and that it was 
better to get a price for them than to be ordered to 
take them off. 

When the French ward in which I had been working 
was evacuated, and the wounded either shipped to 
the rear on the hospital trains, or moved to other 
wards, I was transferred to another ward, in which 
were German wounded, cared for by German doctors, 
nurses, and orderlies. It was not the most pleasant 
task in the world. 

One of the German nurses, who spoke English well, 
had lived in Cleveland for four years, so she stated. 
Her manner was not objectionable, but she was Ger- 



28 Behind the German Lines 

man, and that was enough to put me on guard, and 
to keep me from being drawn into a conversation that 
might prove uncomfortable. One morning, however, 
we did get into a rather heated argument, as to ''who 
started the war. ' ' Like the true German subject that 
she was, she denied that the Kaiser had begun it. 
Then she began laying the blame first on France and 
England, then on Russia, and finally, when I had 
refuted her, she accused Belgium of beginning the 
war. I am sure that by this time she is forced to 
realize the truth. She vowed that she would never 
return to America, inasmuch as they were "fighting 
the Fatherland." In her mind, the submarine war- 
fare was justifiable, and the Lusitania affair laudable. 

Heckert and I worked in this ward until he was laid 
off because of an infected foot. When I say that ' '' we 
worked," I must admit that we did not work any 
more than was necessary while in the German wards. 

There is a general impression in America, that the 
Germans are noted for cleanliness. From what I saw 
at the hospital, both among the patients and the 
nurses in the German wards, I learned that the 
contrary was the truth. Over and over again I have 
seen the German nurses take the bed bottle, step to 
the window, and empty it. As a result, the flies 
around the ward became so numerous that the 
wounded had to have nettings over them, especially 
those who were too weak to shoo them away. At 
mealtime, if a piece of bread and jam were laid down, 
in an instant it was black with flies. Although the 
nurse insisted that the cups be washed every morning, 



Mont Notre Dame 29 

the water used was only lukewarm, and none of the 
cups was washed well enough to be really clean. 

While Heckert and I had been working in the 
wards, Ted had remained with the French doctor, 
having a rather easy time. For some reason the 
Germans sent him to the officers' ward next to ours. 
The German officers there had practically the same 
food as all the other patients, with the exception that 
it was served on china, with as much ceremony as 
circumstances would allow. Ted acted as steward, 
waiter, and general maid. It amused Heckert and 
me to see him continually buried behind a pile of 
dishes, singing to himself or improving his German 
as he splashed around in the dishwater. As the meals 
were served in courses, and they had five so-called 
meals a day, Ted was rather busy. 

One afternoon a little French girl was brought 
into the French ward, with an ugly wound in her hip 
which she had received from shell fire in her own home 
in a neighboring village. A few days later a German 
sergeant who was making up the list from that ward 
for the next hospital train, came to her bedside and 
demanded rudely : ' ' Was ist das?'' as he pointed to the 
child. 

Her condition and the circumstances of the ac- 
cident were explained to him. 

''Well, we will mark her down on the list as a 
French soldier; we can't go to the trouble of changing 
the list in any form for a civilian," he grunted, as he 
passed on. 

In the German ward there was an arrogant young 



30 Behind the German Lines 

boche soldier who spoke a little French and English. 
He had been slightly wounded in the foot, so that he 
was able to move around and interfere with every- 
thing that went on in the ward. One afternoon he 
told me that I did not speak as good English as he 
did. While I realized my own English was far from 
perfect, his ignorant presumption was refreshing. 
Conversations with him were always amusing, for he 
was so typically German that it hurt him to have an 
enemy even insinuate that perhaps the Germans were 
in the wrong. He insisted that the boche would be 
in Paris within two weeks — this was about the middle 
of June — and after that they would take Calais and 
then go over to London. Naturally, I laughed at 
him and replied that the Allies were stronger than 
the Germans believed ; that there were over a million 
Americans in the lines already, and that these were all 
shock troops. It was his turn to laugh, so he 
thought, as he said that "one good German was 
worth five Americans." When I replied that per- 
haps that was so, but at present there were no good 
Germans left as they had all been killed in the first 
part of the war, he grunted in disgust and that ended 
the conversation. 

He insisted that the Germans were sinking all of 
the Allied ships, and would not believe for an instant 
that the Vaterland was landing ten thousand Amer- 
icans in Europe every trip that it made. 

From what we could learn from those who before 
had been prisoners, we judged that within two or 
three weeks we should be sent to a prison camp or 



Mont Notre Dame 31 

somewhere in the interior of Germany. But as the 
days wore into weeks, we gave up hope of being im- 
mediately moved from the hospital. Former pris- 
oners, such as the Frenchman with whom I worked, 
asserted that non-combatants were being exchanged 
within two months from the date of capture, as 
agreed upon at an international convention held at 
Geneva. 

The work was telling on all of the prisoners, espe- 
cially on the doctors and nurses whose work demanded 
such skill and patience, during long, strenuous hours. 
The great question was, ' ' When do we go to the rear ?" 
and we trusted from day to day that the next week 
would see us on our way. Every week brought its 
rumors, most of them ill founded, but they were 
sufficient to keep us in continual hope. One thing 
most certainly would cause the hospital to be evac- 
uated and that was the return of the line. 

Day by day we watched the observation balloons 
that were hanging along the horizon, speculating on 
whether they were any nearer. We questioned new 
prisoners that came in, from whom we learned that 
the Marne had been reached, crossed, and recrossed ; 
that the Americans were in the front line, and that 
the fighting would be the fiercest of the war, for this 
was the supreme German effort. 

A few American prisoners straggled into the hos- 
pital, in groups of four or five, worn out and wounded. 
The first to arrive was a lieutenant of the United 
States Air Service who gave us definite news of the 
American engagements. It was then that we heard 



32 Behind the German Lines 

for the first time the name Bois de Belleau and the 
splendid work of the Marines. 

The Heutenant, flying in a squadron with eight other 
planes, so he told us, had been cut off from his squad- 
ron and forced to the ground. To save the possibility 
of his machine falling into German hands, he had 
turned into a nose dive for the last two or three hun- 
dred feet, wrecked his aeroplane, and he himself had 
miraculously escaped with only a wrenched leg. We 
paid him several visits, but as he refused to talk when 
cross-examined by a German officer, our visits were 
soon forbidden. The joke of it was that the lieuten- 
ant had been a lawyer in civil life, as was his enemy 
examiner, and when it came to a test the Hun learned 
nothing, but himself disclosed that the enemy ma- 
chines that had forced the American lieutenant to the 
ground were from the famous Von Rickenhoff circus. 
The Hun also promised to drop a note behind Allied 
lines reporting that the lieutenant was a prisoner, and 
wounded. Upon making a complaint to the French 
doctors, and they in turn to the German officers at the 
hospital, we were able to have the lieutenant removed 
from the German privates' ward into an officers' ward 
— the same one in which Lockwood had been working. 

The other Americans, being in all fewer than thirty 
who came in from time to time, were mostly dough- 
boys, and formed but a very small proportion to the 
German wounded that were arriving under German 
care. These Americans were put in a separate ward, 
and not given as many dressings as the Germans 
received. 



Mont Notre Dame 33 

What did the small number of Americans indicate ? 
Were only a few Americans in the line? Did the 
Americans prefer death while fighting to the chance of 
death after capture ? Was the Hne advancing so that 
all wounded fell into AlHed hands? We could only 
surmise and hope for the best. 

Up to this time no great numbers of Americans 
had been in the lines, and nothing very extensive had 
been published as to their activities, so that these 
prisoners were of as great interest to the French and 
EngHsh as they were to Lockwood, Heckert, and my- 
self. Perhaps their most noticeable characteristic 
was their youth. Four years had so depleted the 
ranks of our Allies, that the American soldiers seemed 
as mere boys compared with the Poilu and the 
Tommy, 

During the first few days of our capture, we had 
laid aside all of the suppHes that we could get hold of, 
especially food and tobacco. The tobacco question 
became serious as the weeks ran on and we had to 
Hmit ourselves to only a few smokes a day. When 
the German organization became perfected at the 
hospital, cigarettes and cigars were issued to the 
German wounded, and working in a German ward, 
we had our share of these. But the quaHty was so 
poor, probably being made of leaves and paper, that 
they hardly began to satisfy our American taste for 
the weed. Some of the men even resorted to dried 
cherry leaves. 

The stock of goods at the French canteen, which 
the nurses had removed before the Germans had a 



34 Behind the German Lines 

chance to loot it, furnished a supply of French to- 
bacco and other articles which were distributed 
among the Allied wounded. 

On the 27th of June, the Kaiser, while making a 
tour of inspection of the front, paid a visit to the 
hospital. He had been expected for over a week, and 
when he arrived, with his staff, in seven large open 
Benz cars, with the royal coat-of-arms on the doors, 
and with his armed chauffeur in livery, the officers of 
the hospital met him in the main square of the hospi- 
tal, attired in their best uniforms, wearing their 
swords and polished helmets. I did not see the 
ceremony when they received him, but I noticed 
later, when I managed to get within twenty feet of 
him, that the officers, except those of very high rank, 
stood at rigid attention and bowed stiffly whenever 
they were addressed. 

From the pictures that I had seen of the Kaiser, I 
had expected a more imposing figure. He was of 
only average stature, distinguished looking, tanned 
from exposure in the field, and with a rather tired 
expression which seemed to be emphasized by the fact 
that his mustache was drooping instead of upturned. 
His hair was on the verge of whiteness, and his 
withered arm, which rested on his sword, was very 
noticeable. 

So this was the most hated man in the world ; this 
man of average size, who, had he been wearing a 
civilian suit and walking down Broadway, might 
have passed for an American of the middle class. I 
wondered at the time whether he believed in his 



Mont Notre Dame 35 

heart that the German cause was as secure as he had 
believed it to be in 1 914, and whether he thought that 
when the present war was over he would rule in glory 
the Pan- German Empire. 

As he mingled freely among the Allied wounded 
and prisoners, I was a bit nervous for fear some hare- 
brained patriot might attempt to take his life, for 
which there was ample opportunity. This nervous- 
ness was not in the least for his safety but for that of 
the prisoners, the wounded, and the personnel at the 
hospital. 

Nothing happened, however. His inspection pro- 
ceeded without interruption. In the English ward 
he talked excellent English, asking the patients in 
what regiment they had served, and then saying that 
he was familiar with their success when they had 
broken the German lines at such and such a place. 
He remarked on the cleanliness of the English wards 
as compared with the German, and in truth, this was 
very noticeable, for the English orderlies kept their 
wards immaculate. 

The German hospital trains were not well equipped, 
although they served the purpose. The cars were of 
the type that became obsolete in America fifteen 
years ago. The seats were torn out and a double 
row of bunks built along the sides. A train was made 
up of from fifteen to twenty cars, consisting of coaches 
for the nurses, doctors, and patients, a kitchen, and 
an operating car. These trains began to arrive after 
Soissons had fallen into enemy hands and the rail- 
roads were opened to traffic. Towards the last, when 



36 Behind the German Lines 

the wounded became so numerous, freight trains were 
used. 

On the first of July, Harry K, James, together with 
most of the Frenchmen in Mile. Bedts's ward, were 
sent to the rear on one of these trains, bound for 
Nuremberg. I since have learned that no room could 
be found in that city, and they were moved in turn 
to Dresden, Berlin, Stettin, and finally Stargard, on 
the Baltic. 

In regard to the treatment they received, he has 
written me: 

''We were not all mistreated, but rather untreated, 
so far as the Germans were concerned. Luckily for 
us there were three British doctors who had preceded 
us as prisoners, and they did all that could be done 
considering that they had practically nothing with 
which to work. I was rather fortunately placed, 
being the only Yank for over a month living with 
the French. My party left Germany by way of 
Sweden, Denmark, and Scotland into the south of 
England." 

The second week in July the Germans held a roll 
call for all of the prisoners and reassigned some of us 
to new jobs. Quite naturally we thought this was in 
preparation for our departure to the rear, but it was 
not. The affair took most of the afternoon. To- 
ward the end there were three Englishmen who were 
still without work. A German non-commissioned 
officer approached them and demanded: "What 
rank are you ? ' ' 

"Sergeants," they answered. 



Mont Notre Dame 37 

"How long have you been in the army?" 

"One of us, ten years, the other twelve, and I have 
been in the army for fifteen," came the answer. 

The German reported this to the head officer who 
looked them over searchingly and said with a little 
smile: "That is long enough to exempt you from 
further work." Occasionally the Germans revealed 
a sense of humor, but most always it was hidden 
behind their taciturnity. 

The roll call did not change our work then, but the 
following week we were put on the grave-digging 
squad, which included French and Germans. 

The English who were not working in the wards 
were assigned various duties, the most tiresome and 
exacting being that of stretcher bearer. Towards 
the end they were working thirty-six out of forty- 
eight hours carrying wounded from the receiving 
station to the operating rooms, and from there to the 
wards. There is no question but that the death of 
Corporal J. Herbert Garside, R.A.M.C., then acting 
as a stretcher bearer, was due to long hours, insuffi- 
cient sleep, and lack of nourishment. 

The graveyard lay a quarter of a mile to the east 
of the hospital, at the edge of a large wheat field. 
There the wounded French who had died at the 
hospital were buried. The cemetery contained long 
rows of well-kept graves, each marked with a simple 
wooden cross on which was given the deceased's 
name, nationality, and military organization, and, if 
he were Allied, the simple inscription. Pour la France. 
If the cross marked the grave of a German, it bore 



38 Behind the German Lines 

only his name and division or regiment and the word, 
Allemand. 

When we began our work, we dug individual 
graves, and the bodies were put into wooden coffins. 
But this method of burial was too slow, as the deaths 
in the hospital were occurring faster than the grave 
detail could dig. In place of five or six graves a day, 
we had to bury fifty or sixty. This was done by 
digging a grave thirteen feet by twenty-five, and 
laying the bodies in two rows, head to head. At 
first the bodies arrived from the morgue wrapped in 
blankets. Soon the supply of blankets ran out and 
the bodies came down wrapped in sheets, and as the 
supply of sheets was exhausted, paper was used for 
shrouds. On rainy days the paper became soaked 
and proved to be a very insufficient covering. The 
bodies were laid in the graves on their sides so that 
they would take up less room. Their identification 
tags were attached to long wires tied around their 
necks. As the grave was filled, these were gathered 
together and pulled directly over the bodies on the 
surface, so that later the crosses could be erected 
there. 

Gruesome work? Yes! But the work had to be 
done, and in one respect it was preferable to ward 
duty, for it was out in the open. 

At various times the Germans had boasted of what 
their armies were about to do, but no report came 
back that they had been successful, or that they even 
had made the attack. So when one of the German 
nurses informed me that they were going to make an 



Mont Notre Dame 39 

attack on the night of the 14th of July, an attack 
which would end only with the taking of Paris and 
which would be a crushing defeat for the Allies, I 
gave her story little consideration. 

The hospital was so located in the center of the 
salient that any activity on the front was very notice- 
able. The distant rumble would come first from one 
portion of the line and then from another. On the 
night in question the line to the south of us broke into 
an ominous roll of thunder. The Germans had be- 
gun their second drive for Paris. The cannonading 
continued through the following days, varying little 
in intensity. Allied activity increased, the Allied 
planes flying over the lines in squadrons of twenty 
and thirty or more, regardless of the enemy. Several 
times a day we would stop our work to watch a battle 
in the clouds. Maneuvering for position; darting 
out of sight above a cloud ; swooping headlong at the 
enemy; flashing like gilded birds in the rays of the 
sun. Allied and Hun planes fought their battles until 
one or the other fell disabled or in a mass of flames. 
German reinforcements marched in long columns 
towards the front, or rested at the edge of the woods 
waiting for the movement forward — troops that were 
no longer the pick of the German nation, but worn 
and tired through the four years of the war; fed on 
steadily decreasing rations and buoyed up on prom- 
ises of early successes which never came. The gray 
uniforms were often ill-fitting and worn, and the 
wearers either mere boys or men far past the military 
age. 



40 Behind the German Lines 

Night air raids increased. Allied planes came per- 
sistently again and again dropping their bombs. 
The concussion shook the buildings. Searchlights 
played across the sky, amid the flashes of bursting 
shrapnel from anti-aircraft guns. 

After four days of the German attack, a new note 
sounded on the front. The shelling still continued, 
but with a deeper and more intense volume. To the 
southwest the line rolled and thundered with an 
added severity. Individual shells of high caliber, 
could be heard now and then above the din. At 
night flashes appeared on the horizon and the noise 
continued. We knew that the Allies were making a 
counter-offensive. Only upon our return to France 
did we realize how successful had been the American 
attack just south of Soissons. 

From that day on, the line of observation balloons 
began to come back. We knew then that the Allies 
had turned the tide and that the boches were being 
pushed out of the salient. 

We prayed for a pincer movement directed at the 
flanks at Soissons and Rheims, which if successfully 
executed would mean that the whole salient would 
have to surrender, and we would be prisoners no 
longer. We realized, too, the strategy that the Allies 
were using for the attack coming from the southwest, 
designated a flanking movement. This was also 
apparent from the fact that the boches were hurrying 
troops from the south for reinforcements on the west. 
Often we would rest on our shovels and watch the 
German troops, dust covered and tired, hurrying 



Mont Notre Dame 41 

along the road to the west. And more often we 
would watch transport wagons going in the opposite 
direction loaded with plunder consisting of every- 
thing from clothing and personal articles, to furniture 
and farming implements. Pianos, baby carriages, 
plows, mirrors, and cooking utensils, going to the 
rear for some frau in Germany, passed loaded high on 
trucks and wagons. These transports carried food 
and ammunition to the front, and plunder to the rear. 

Shortly after the Germans had captured the hospi- 
tal, they began surveying for a telephone line and 
erected poles across the fields. After a long delay 
the cross arms and insulators were added. Finally 
the wires were strung one evening, during the week 
before this last attempt for Paris. A few mornings 
later, the wires were taken down. Then I was quite 
positive that the Germans expected to evacuate the 
salient. 

The German wounded had been coming into the 
hospital as the line advanced south. On the 14th of 
July, the number increased greatly, but the maximum 
was not reached until after the i8th. The gas cases, 
literally by hundreds, walked into the hospital, 
faces and hands swollen, their eyes often closed as 
they were led by their more fortunate comrades. 
Of course it was horrible, but I felt no pity for them, 
for the boche had been the first to start using gas, 
and there is no effective retaliation for the Hun, ex- 
cept the use of his own methods. We heard tales 
that the Americans were using a vomiting gas, which 
was so effective that the boches were forced to take 



42 Behind the German Lines 

off their masks. When this had done its work, the 
vomiting shells were followed by a poisonous gas 
when the enemy was thus exposed. This I have 
never been able to verify. A large per cent, of the 
wounded were head cases. The last few days these , 
were merely dressed at the hospital and loaded on 
waiting trains for the rear. 

On the afternoon of July 226., three bombs were 
dropped on the hospital, killing thirty and wounding 
a hundred. A squadron of about twelve planes had 
been flying at an altitude of some ten thousand feet 
over the hospital. A rush of air was the only warn- 
ing as the bombs fell, hitting one German ward and 
wrecking two operating theaters. At the time of the 
accident I was down at the graveyard, a quarter of a 
mile distant, and had observed the planes flying in 
formation, and noticed other planes flying singly. 
It looked to me as though the squadron, whether 
English, French, or American, was on a bombing ex- 
pedition into the interior of Germany; had been at- 
tacked by one or two single boche fighting planes, 
and to lighten his machine, the better to maneuver 
and to fight, one of the squadron had released his 
bombs. By chance the hospital was beneath. 
When I returned to the hospital grounds and saw the 
terrible wreckage, I realized why the Germans were 
so very indignant. This accident, I believed, would 
serve as a good lesson to the Huns who had inten- 
tionally bombed so often the Allied hospitals. The 
Germans were furious, insisting that the planes were 
American. The air was tense with hatred, for two Ger- 



Mont Notre Dame 43 

man nurses, an officer, and many German wounded 
were among those killed, while few Frenchmen and 
but one Englishman were among the unfortunate. 

The week after our capture, postal cards were 
given to the prisoners by the Germans, who informed 
us that we might write home, briefly stating our 
situation. I doubted whether the Huns would ever 
send them, but nevertheless wrote simply: *'I am a 
prisoner of war and in good health," and addressed 
the same to Major W. H. Brophy, a friend of the 
family, who was then in Paris with the American Red 
Cross, knowing that he would cable immediately. 
I repeated the first three postals to him at intervals 
of two weeks, hoping that one at least would reach its 
destination. 

On many of the evenings we were in the habit of 
walking around the outskirts of the hospital, for the 
exercise. It was during one of these walks that I saw 
a German motor truck carrying a load of French boys, 
under armed guard. All of the boys were under 
military age. As the truck rolled down the road I 
realized that they were destined for the interior of 
Germany to work in the fields or in the factories. 

We called him "Red Beard" and the name fitted 
the man, but that did not mean that we disliked him, 
although we looked upon him with friendly distrust. 
He was a German non-commissioned officer, who said 
he had lived in Kansas City for a number of years. 
He regretted that he was in the war, which came 
about through the fact that he had returned to Ger- 



44 Behind the German Lines 

many to visit his mother. When hostilities were 
declared, he had been unable to evade military ser- 
vice. At first our conversations were only general, 
for he assumed the usual German attitude towards us, 
but later as we came to know one another, his bearing 
changed. Subsequently, when our discussions turned 
to the war, he would frequently remark: "Yes, you 
have as much right to your opinion as I have to mine, 
and I think that we can express ourselves without 
getting angry." 

''When will the war end?" I once asked. 

' ' The war would have ended, in my opinion, during 
the battle of the Somme, in 191 6, had the Allies kept 
on pushing at the time. Germany would have been 
unable to withstand a concentrated and continued 
attack, as she was short of men and ammunition, but, 
fortunately for us, the battle did not continue." He 
had evaded my question, but later, when I knew him 
better, he confessed it as his own belief that Germany 
would lose. 

' ' Of course, I have my own opinion as to who will 
win," he said. "I have been in America, and know 
with what energy she will accomplish that which she 
undertakes. I do not believe everything I am told, 
like our common soldiers — have I answered your 
question?" He had, and I understood that he, too, 
saw the end. 

The long-looked-for orders finally came. We were 
to evacuate the hospital the next morning, July 27th, 
at five o'clock. The news was almost as welcome as 
if we had orders to go home. Everyone — doctors, 



Mont Notre Dame 45 

nurses, and orderlies — was worn out from the two 
months of nerve-racking work, under the conscious- 
ness of being prisoners, and the physical strain of 
being constantly in attendance upon the wounded. 

That evening we made our simple preparations for 
departure. 

The French barracks in which we had slept were a 
melee that evening, packing, sorting, and discussing 
what should be taken. When we did pull out the 
next morning, more was left than we took with us. 

We understood that we were to march to a rail 
head. That necessitated making our packs as light 
as possible, yet, at the same time we wanted to be as 
well prepared for an emergency as our meager sup- 
plies would permit, for the future might mean per- 
haps months with no relief from outside. Moreover, 
we felt that the food situation was bad. As for my- 
self, I carried two extra shirts, a change of underwear, 
three pairs of worn socks, the old English overcoat I 
had picked up at the hospital, a blanket that I had 
saved from my roll, several cans of food, an English 
water bottle, and a few personal articles. Lockwood 
and Heckert were carrying about the same amount, 
and Ted, in addition, had two loaves of bread which 
we had managed to save from our rations during the 
last week. The Frenchmen and Englishmen had 
about the same, but in some instances they carried a 
great deal more, which exposed us to the risk of losing 
all if some envious German took the notion of reliev- 
ing us of our packs. 

Where were we going? How long would we be 



4^ Behind the German Lines 

there ? And what would be our situation once there ? 
Would another month, as we had hoped, see us on our 
way back to France? 

We were non-combatants, and under the rules of 
warfare we should be returned within three months 
after being captured. On the other hand we realized 
how the Huns ignored all rules. Had we not been 
kept at the front, not for two weeks, as the agreement 
at Geneva stated, but for two months ? We had seen 
how the Germans used the roads through the hospi- 
tal for troop movements and the transportation of 
ammunition; how they had set up anti-aircraft 
machine guns between hospital barracks and on the 
church of Mont Notre Dame ; how a battery of guns 
was placed just outside the grounds of the hospital, 
and how the Germans at every possible point vio- 
lated the rules of war under the flimsy excuse of 
' * necessity. ' ' 

That night I slept but little. Three times I went 
outside in order to hear more clearly the intense roll 
of the thunder of the big guns that encircled the 
hospital. Individual explosions had become more 
distinct and gun flashes were visible on the horizon. 
The Allies were coming back, that was the paramount 
event. Now, at last, our hopes were being realized. 
Heretofore, rumors had been our only source of news, 
but now the Allied guns spoke more truthfully than 
rumors. We were living as much in the hopes of vic- 
tory as we were in the hopes of our own safe repatria- 
tion. 

We had one of our greatest chances of escape that 



Mont Notre Dame 47 

night. We three Americans talked the situation 
over, and decided against an attempt. The proposed 
plan was to take what food we had and hide in the 
dugout under the church on the hill above Mont 
Notre Dame. Once hidden there, the line would 
probably pass over us and we would be left in the rear 
of the Allied hnes. But, therein lay the danger. 
How soon would it pass over ? Our food would only 
last for a few days and meantime the retreating Ger- 
mans would use all dugouts and the advancing Allies 
would clean them out with hand grenades. Being 
non-combatants, we could not be sure of our position, 
or our chances. We gave up the attempt, although 
several Frenchmen disappeared during the night. 
We knew well where they had gone and we wished 
them good luck and godspeed ! 



CHAPTER III 

LAON 

The next morning, July 27th, while it was still 
dark, we dressed and strapped on our packs. 

At five we were all collected in front of the barracks 
where we fell in with our allotted groups. We three 
Americans were in the care of a young French ser- 
geant. 

Just at daylight we moved down to the center of 
the hospital grounds. There the prisoners were 
gathered waiting for the convoy to form. It was a 
dull wet morning, with now and then a sharp shower 
of rain. The French in their blue uniforms, with 
their packs, and bundles, and boxes around them, 
looked more like troops waiting to go on leave, than 
prisoners waiting to go into the land of their captivity. 
As in all movements of troops there was a delay. 
Rations were being handed out, black German bread 
and an apology for jam. Some of us walked over to 
the tisannerie for a cup of barley coffee, only to find 
the building deserted, although the fires were still 
smoldering and the pots of coffee were still warm. 
At last we were counted. That was the first of many 
times on the coming trip that we were checked up. 

48 



Laon 



49 



Just before six o'clock several German transport 
wagons without tops passed, carrying the French 
nurses. Never shall I forget that scene ; those women 
who had so faithfully performed their duty not only 
to the AlHed wounded, but who had cared also for the 
German soldiers, now suffered the indignity of being 
sent to the rear in open horse-drawn wagons, in a 
drizzHng rain with no protection save their army 
capes. Our blood boiled and I know the nurses felt 
their humiHation, although they smiled as they 
passed, wishing us bonne chance. 

The English marched smartly by, nearly a hundred 
of them. No wonder that the Huns hated them, for 
their spirit could not be broken. These men had 
been overworked, and underfed even to the point 
of death, yet they were as cheerful that morning as 
if they were going on a holiday. Their rear was 
brought up by two-wheeled stretcher carriers piled 
high with their packs. 

At six the convoy fell in Hne. The. EngHsh led, 
followed by the French. The Hne dragged out for 
over half a mile. At last we were really bound for the 
rear. The roads were sloppy from the drizzling rain, 
but we found this was better for marching than a 
bright day and dusty roads. 

We— and when I say we, I mean all of the AUied 
personnel of the hospital except the nurses and doc- 
tors, numbering fiYe or six hundred— made up a con- 
voy marching on foot. We soon learned our route 
lay through Bazoche, on the other side of the Vesle 
River. From Bazoche, we took the first road north, 



50 Behind the German Lines 

crossing the hills between the Vesle and the Aisne. 
Near Maisy we crossed the Aisne and were herded 
into a farmyard surrounded by barbed wire, and not 
far from the village of Beaurieux. I never felt so 
much like an animal as that afternoon when I arrived, 
footsore and tired. The barns and cowsheds were 
our quarters, and dirty straw our bedding. It was 
here that I became acquainted with that troublesome 
little pest of the trenches, the cootie. We were 
companions for the next six weeks, a pleasure which 
he alone enjoyed. 

Immediately upon our arrival we were lined up and 
counted, so that the guards who had brought us over 
could deliver us to the keeper of the farm. The 
sergeant in charge was a typical Hun, red, fat faced, 
with little piggish eyes, his head set on a bull neck, 
and his whole appearance that of a man whose only 
delight in life is cruelty and dissipation. When he 
gave an order he fairly bellowed, and if the order were 
slow in being carried out he went into a rage, waving 
his arms and stamping the ground. 

That night for supper we formed in fours. The 
line was long, and by the time I reached the impro- 
vised kitchen, the coffee, made from roasted barley, 
was only lukewarm, and tasteless. The ration of 
bread, a slice about two inches thick, was of the same 
quality as the black bread that we had at the hospital. 

We had walked about seventeen kilometers. Our 
packs had grown heavy and it was only by frequent 
rests that we were able to keep going. The march 
was hardest on the old Frenchmen who had been 



Laon 51 

working in the hospital because they were too old for 
active fighting in the lines. Many of them had been 
prisoners before, and others had been wounded and 
transferred to non-combatant work. It was pitiful 
to see them struggling along with their packs, trying 
to keep up with the convoy. 

Along the road we had seen evidences of the shell- 
ing and fighting. Here and there were fresh graves, 
those of the Allies being marked simply "Englander" 
or **Franz6sisch," with a new wooden cross. The 
bridge across the Vesle near Bazoche had been blown 
up, and a temporary one erected. On the road we 
passed German infantry and transports going to the 
front, although this movement was not as heavy as 
during the days immediately after our capture. 

That night more prisoners arrived at the farm, 
most of them being Americans. Aside from the few 
who had come into the hospital wounded these were 
the first we had seen. They had fared worse than we 
at the hospital, having only the clothes on their 
backs. Many of them were without blouses, and 
none had overcoats. Some were still wearing their 
helmets, and others had ripped the lining out of the 
helmets and were wearing them for caps. 

They seemed very young to me, after having been 
with the French for so long. They were full of 
American *'pep," and while they were not averse to 
telling their experiences, there was no bragging in 
relating how "our boys" were giving the boche the 
surprise of his life. 

The barn became quiet, the whispering ceased, and 



52 Behind the German Lines 

the men on the piles of straw dropped off to sleep too 
tired to heed our filthy surroundings. 

At daybreak we were up, forming the coffee line in 
the muddy courtyard. The German sergeant in 
charge walked back and forth along the line, taking 
every possible opportunity to exhibit his temper, and 
flying into a rage without the least provocation. 

We had scarcely finished the barley coffee and 
black bread when the order was given to fall in. 
Another count and another delay, before we finally 
swung our packs. ' 

''Achtung! " rang out the German order. At six 
o'clock the column moved down the road headed 
south for (Euilly. 

I had been in the Aisne valley for over a year with 
the French army. I had seen its villages, those which 
were not mere piles of crumbling stone, crowded with 
French troops en repos. I had worked over its roads, 
crossed its broken bridges, and seen the havoc 
wrought in a valley once beautiful. I had shared the 
tiring drudgery of the work behind the lines with 
the Frenchmen as I had shared their pleasures over 
a bottle of their best wine. I had caught the spirit 
of France from personal contact. 

That morning a feeling of depression came over me 
as, footsore, I passed over the same roads to see the 
Germans quartered in the villages. I resented the 
Hun occupation as if it had been my own land. 

A freight train lay on the siding near CEuilly, and 
much to our distress we recognized the French nurses 
and doctors who had been at the hospital as they 



Laon 53 

stood in the doors of the last two cars waving to us 
as we passed. What more indignities were they to 
suffer? 

''Sacre nom deDieuI C est terrible T' an old French- 
man murmured at my side. 

At Bourg-et-Comin we began the ascent of the 
Chemin-des- Dames, walking slowly and sweating 
under our packs. The Chemin-des-Dames, so called 
from the name of the road that runs along its summit, 
is a plateau north of the Aisne River. The Germans 
had been entrenched on the northern side, and the 
French on the southern since March, 191 7, neither 
able to dislodge the other until October of the same 
year when the Germans had been pushed back to the 
Ailette River. 

It was here that a German guard spied Lock wood, 
Heckert, and me, walking with the Frenchmen. He 
undoubtedly thought that we should be in the rear 
of the column with the English and the Americans. 
The full meaning of his angry command was clear, 
but we were so foolish as to try to argue. 

"Lose ihr Schweinef' yelled the guard as he threw 
a cartridge into the breech of his rifle. We did not 
linger. 

In a ravine, south of the Chemin-des-Dames 
proper, we passed the remains of what had been the 
village of Vendresse, now merely a heap of stones 
scattered by the continual pounding of shells through 
four years of war. 

Crossing the Chemin-des-Dames was tedious as the 
torn and muddy road stretched up the long ascent. 



54 Behind the German Lines 

Transport wagons drawn by small Russian ponies 
splashed through the mud holes ; caissons and guns 
lumbered along, followed by tired Huns in their dirty 
uniforms of field gray; and now and then a heavy 
truck with steel spring tires rumbled to the rear with 
plunder or to the front with supplies. Passing it all, 
or being passed, the long column of prisoners con- 
tinued wearily. As the day grew hotter, the weight 
of our packs seemed to increase, and we shifted the 
load from one position to another. 

Dugouts built into the sharp slope lined the road, 
some intact, others caved in and crumbling. A few 
gun emplacements stood empty, the camouflage 
flapping gently in the breeze. Old equipment lay 
scattered along the road, haversacks, shell casings, 
unexploded shells and bombs, and now and then a 
shattered car or an abandoned rifle, all added to the 
wretchedness of the view. 

We were now crossing what was no-man's-land 
prior to the German advance in May. Here as 
before, one shell-hole joined the next, forming a deso- 
late stretch of land obstructed by torn wire entangle- 
ments, cut by jagged trenches, blown to pieces, fought 
over, taken and retaken, and now left in its waste 
while a new battlefield was in the making to the south. 
No sign of habitation, no movement on the ravaged 
landscape except the procession of which we formed a 
part, only the devastated slopes, the burnt logs lying 
among the weeds that struggled to efface the barren- 
ness with a bit of color. That was the battlefield of 
yesterday. I wondered if the last two months had 



Laon 55 

seen the Valley of the Marne laid waste in a similar 
manner. 

We passed a lone British prisoner working on the 
road, filling in the shell-holes with crushed rock. 

''Hi, Tommy, what's your outfit? " sang out one of 
the Englishmen in our column. 

''Royal Army Medical Corps — " he replied with 
a weary smile, but I did not catch the number of the 
regiment, though I shall always remember his drawn, 
tired expression, his lean features, and his bent back, 
too exhausted to straighten up as we passed. 

While at the hospital I had heard of the small 
prison camp near Mont Notre Dame and had seen a 
few of the prisoners who were working on ammuni- 
tion dumps and roads. They had come into the 
grounds on several occasions in quest of such food and 
clothing as they could pick up from us who were more 
fortunate. Their tales were not encouraging, or 
their condition hopeful, for they were living on water 
soup and black bread, both in small quantities, while 
their taskmasters demanded long hours. The Rus- 
sian prisoners were in a worse plight. Their clothing 
was little better than rags. Like famished animals, 
their hunger forced them to hunt for food in the swill 
barrels near the kitchen. 

I felt that we in the convoy, who were non-com- 
batants, who had been taken as a unit, and who had 
worked as a unit at the hospital, probably would be 
kept together and repatriated together. I did not let 
myself dwell on the future. I merely hoped for the 
best. 



56 Behind the German Lines 

The long hours dragged on. The descent of the 
Chemin-des- Dames was easier, and we reached the 
Ailette River at midday. The roads were still 
packed when the guards ordered a halt. The march, 
on practically an empty stomach, had left us raven- 
ous, but we had to satisfy ourselves with a small ra- 
tion of black bread and jam washed down with water. 
Fifteen kilometers since six o'clock — no wonder that 
we were tired! 

The lack of German supply parks along the road 
surprised me. I had expected to see huge ammuni- 
tion dumps and stations piled with lumber and other 
trench equipment, but I saw none. Perhaps the 
.Germans were short of supplies or had moved all to 
the south during their advance. 

While lying there a party of German officers, with 
their immaculate uniforms, black shining helmets, 
and decorations, passed, presenting a striking con- 
trast to the bedraggled army through which they 
picked their way. One officer, a handsome young 
fellow, noticed us. 

"Americans?" he called out. 

''Yes!" answered one of the men. 

''You're a long way from Broadway, boys," he 
remarked with a chuckle, and then added with a 
sneer, "and it'll be a hell of a long time before you'll 
get back!" 

Going on we passed the desolate and scarred village 
of Chamomile, and started to climb another line of 
hills. The road behind us was still congested with 
traffic^ as was the road along the Ailette River going 



Laon 57 

north. I turned and took my last view of that war- 
worn sector of France. From that time on we were 
to see the other half — the half that was occupied by 
the Germans. Often during the months that I had 
been with the French army I had wondered what lay 
behind the Hun lines. To me the line had always 
seemed like the border of France with nothing be- 
yond except what the imagination could bring forth. 

The summit was reached. Before us green hills 
rose in the distance out of a vast green plain. The 
barrenness had changed suddenly to abundant 
fertility. We had stepped into a new land. The 
faint roll of artillery behind us was the only indica- 
tion that we were, or had been, in the vicinity of the 
battlefield. In the distance, situated on a small 
plateau, could be seen the city of Laon. The cathe- 
dral rose, a single spire above the city, standing out 
clear against the soft light of the afternoon horizon. 
At first I did not realize that that was Laon, our des- 
tination, for it seemed too far to be reached before 
nightfall. 

As we descended farther, the poplars along the 
roadside hid the view, and we approached unawares 
the village of Bruyeres. Our unmeasured steps 
sounded through the streets as if in answer to the 
expressions of curiosity with which the Germans 
watched us as we passed. A few French signs re- 
mained over the doors of the shops and fewer French 
civilians, prisoners since 19 14, lingered in the door- 
ways smiling upon us sadly. We were leaving 
behind all that was French. The sign, Nach Laon, 



58 Behind the German Lines 

made us realize that we were going into a territory 
more thoroughly under German domination. The 
very notices in heavy German script over the stores 
impressed us with this fact more strongly than did 
the great predominance of German soldiers. Kom- 
mandantur replaced the word Marie over the town 
hall with a certain cruel military significance. 

Leaving the village, the road followed the railroad 
line to the foot of the plateau on which stood Laon. 
Between the tall shade trees we could see the cool 
green meadows and the fields ; the whole countryside 
offered a tempting view. 

After a short rest we started on the last five kilo- 
meters. It seemed as though we could neither rise 
nor bring ourselves to walk another step. Our backs 
ached, our feet were sore, our tongues were dry, and 
our packs seemed too heavy to be worth the trouble 
of carrying them farther. As the command was 
given, the column straggled back into the road and 
the rear of this broken formation was brought up by 
those whose every step was painful. Would we ever 
reach our destination, whatever it might be? Past 
one or two large residences with green lawns behind 
iron gates, and stately doorways visible through the 
shrubbery, up the winding road we continued until 
we entered the city proper. The climb was over. 

Our guards led us through a narrow thoroughfare 
crowded with shops. The population, French civil- 
ians for the most part, moved to the edge of the 
sidewalk, asking hasty questions in their hope of 
gathering some news of the front, openly showing their 



Laon 59 

pleasure when hearing that the AlHes were again on 
the advance. French children walked along beside 
us chatting persistently until a guard rudely shoved 
them away. An old woman burst into tears when she 
saw us, mumbling something about mes enfants. A girl 
smiled with delight when she saw the Americans, for 
it revealed to her that our soldiers were in the lines. 

Although it was nearly seven in the evening, many 
of the stores were open, their windows sparingly dis- 
playing goods. That hasty glimpse of Laon was all 
that I was to have and it did not satisfy my curiosity 
as to the treatment of the civilians by the invaders. 

We halted at the eastern end of the city, dropping 
our packs where we stood. Several of the men left 
the line to fill their canteens from a faucet on the 
curbing. An old man and his son, realizing that we 
were thirsty, brought out a tall pitcher of water. He 
had managed to empty three of these before the guard 
interfered and drove us back into the line with the 
exclamation, ' ' Schweinerei I ' ' 

From where we stood we could see our prison. 
Before the war it had been a French armory, a large 
massive stone building of four stories. On the roof 
and at the windows were prisoners calling to us in 
their attempt to learn the news. 

The head of the column was passing slowly down 
the incline that the narrow alleyway cut through the 
outer wall. We followed, the guards counting us as 
we passed. Beyond, we crossed the stone bridge 
over the empty moat, through a tunnel, through the 
inner wall and into the prison court. 



6o Behind the German Lines 

We had walked twenty-eight kilometers that day. 
The fact that our guards were not harder on us was 
probably due to the fact that they also had to walk 
the same distance and naturally made the trip com- 
fortable for themselves. 

Laon prison, the segregating camp for prisoners 
bound for the interior of Germany, will ever remain 
fixed in my memory as the filthiest hole in the terri- 
tory occupied by the Germans. And the prisoners 
who occupied it will long remember their pitiful 
condition. Prisoners who had been working behind 
the German lines were sent here, ragged, exhausted, 
and often absolutely sick, but not broken in spirit. 

The prison grounds covered the eastern end of the 
Laon plateau and were cut off from the city proper 
by two earth walls on either side of a deep but empty 
moat. A bridge and tunnel gave entrance to the 
front prison yard which was about forty feet wide and 
extended the length of the building. An arcade, or 
large open hall, opposite the entrance, ran through 
the building, opening up in the rear yard which was 
larger and used by the prisoners except for a few 
hours in the morning. A high wire fence enclosed 
the southern and eastern sides of the yard, while on 
the northern side ran a long two-story building at the 
eastern end of which were trees and a bit of lawn open 
to the prisoners. Between this lawn and the begin- 
ning of the wire fence rose a sharp mound which 
overlooked the rear yard. On this always stood one 
or more of the guards. 

When we had passed over the bridge and through 



Laon 6i 

the tunnel we found the head of the column had 
begun to pass through the kitchen at the northern 
end of the prison building. Lined up in fours as we 
were, I soon saw that only two lines were passing 
through the kitchen and these very slowly. As we 
proceeded I saw that our rations were to be a small 
sack of hard-tack, one sack for two men, and a cup of 
so-called tea. Being handed the sack we were re- 
quired to empty it and hand it back. This meant 
that our hat or anything available had to serve the 
purpose of a receptacle. For holding the tea, and 
later for the soup which was only served at noon, I 
was lucky enough to have an EngHsh mess kit, while 
many of the men had only an empty tin can or the 
tin container of a German or French gas mask. The 
tea was ladled out from huge vats and served as we 
passed. The kitchen was a mere shack and the 
cooking done in the crudest manner. At times, as 
I noticed later, the kitchen floor was often under an 
inch of slimy water and the place stunk from the 
refuse lying about. 

We were more interested in our food after receiving 
our rations than in our immediate surroundings. 
The EngHshman with me squatted on the ground, 
following the example of the other groups about us, 
and began dividing the hard-tack. It seemed so 
ridiculous to me to be dividing the hard-tack cracker 
by cracker, as if it were a thing of real value, which in 
fact it was at the time, and which I more fully real- 
ized as the days passed. 

When we looked around for a place to sleep we dis- 



62 Behind the German Lines 

covered that the bunks in the building were all occu- 
pied and we were informed we would find room in the 
cellar of the building on the northern side. Upon 
making investigation we decided to camp there for 
the night. 

The cellar was a series of vaults running the length 
of the building. On the floor lay a covering of musty 
straw over rocks and debris. By the light of a candle 
stub Heckert selected a place next to the wall where 
we spread our blankets. As I dropped off to sleep 
I realized how prisonlike our surroundings were. 
The supper, practically bread and water, and the 
arched roof of the vaults added to the atmosphere of 
being in a dungeon apart from the world. 

The next morning about five o'clock a guard came 
down the passage, stumbling over the bodies of sleep- 
ing men and awakening us with his guttural curses. 
We rolled out and packed our belongings, only to 
find when we came up into the open that it was 
barely daylight. 

Prisoners who had been in camp for some time 
warned us that if we wished to retain any of our 
possessions that we should carry them with us con- 
stantly, for stealing was the prevailing practice and 
articles disappeared if left for even a moment. We 
soon became accustomed to carrying our packs with 
us wherever we went. 

Unless a person has lived in the midst of great 
poverty it would be hard to visualize the destitution 
to which the prisoners were subjected. Those who 
were dependent on the Germans for food and had 



Laon ^3 

been for some time were mere skeletons, especially 
those who had worked on the roads and the ammuni- 
tion dumps. We who came from the hospital were 
the exceptions, for we had had a living ration and still 
had a little in reserve. The clothes of many were m 
tatters; some had only threadbare trousers, ragged 
shirts, and worn-out shoes. 

The mass of prisoners as a whole represented what 
remained of once fine fighting units which had gone 
heroically into action and by some miracle had come 
out alive to face a living death. The German system 
whereby a prisoner's spirit might be broken failed m 
the great majority of cases. I cannot recall a single 
instance of an Englishman, Frenchman, or American 
who would not have been more than willing to have 
gone back to the front could he have escaped from 
Germany. As was often remarked, the AlHes could 
have had no better than these same men who were 
rotting in the camps. They were imbued with a 
burning hatred for the enemy, a hatred that had 
grown with the insults and privations heaped 
upon them, and once back in the lines they 
would have gone through hell fire for the sake of 

revenge. 

When we reached the yard the prisoners were be- 
ginning to crowd towards the kitchen. Three or four 
thousand prisoners were there, I should judge, most 
of whom were Enghsh and French, with a few Itahans 
and Americans. Feeding these took an unusually 
long time and the three-hour wait was hardly worth 
the can of imitation coffee that was served us. With 



64 Behind the German Lines 

a little of the hard-tack saved from the previous 
night we made our meager breakfast. 

Once through the kitchen we were again in the 
front yard of the prison. Here, as we learned from 
other prisoners, we were to be kept until a detail 
cleaned up the yard and buildings, and from this 
place also still other details were to be picked for 
various work in German depots in Laon or for road 
work. These details left the prison every morning, 
walking a mile or two to their work, working all day, 
then walking back in the evening. Quite naturally 
the prisoners attempted to evade this service. Many 
found hiding places on a rise of ground near the 
kitchen, others managed to slip by a guard and get on 
the roof of the building, but in nearly every instance 
they were discovered. 

Most of the guards were young fellows who had 
never seen action at the front, and who perhaps for 
this very reason wished the more to show their 
authority, which they exercised quite freely with the 
aid of long cudgels. It was not an uncommon sight 
to see a guard strike a prisoner again and again in a 
fit of unprovoked anger. Our blood boiled at such 
treatment but it was better to hold our peace than 
give the Hun an excuse for further outrages. 

Guarding the entrances to the rear yard were 
armed soldiers. To slip by these was at times an easy 
matter. One man could attract the guard and hold 
his attention while the others slipped by him. Once 
in the rear yard there was little chance of being taken 
for work. After the details left the remaining pris- 



Laon 65 

oners were herded into the moat on the southern side 
of the prison. 

Once there our worries were over for the morning. 
The conditions seemed too good to be true with the 
trees and grass and clear sky. The men lay around 
in groups playing cards, visiting, or sleeping. But 
usually the search for the always present cootie was 
the first task of the morning. The spectacle of the 
men in all manner of undress busily engaged in 
hunting for the pesky Httle animal was made more 
comical by the guard's haughty air of disdain. All 
prisoners were swine in the eyes of the Germans, 
but that name which they so constantly apply 
to others is the only one that really fits them 
perfectly. 

"The best cigarettes I ever tasted were Fatimas." 
I could not help overhearing the conversation of a 
group behind me. The man who spoke had an 
English accent. 

"Must have been in America, Buddy," came the 
answer. 

Yes, worked in Arizona for nine years. ' ' 

My curiosity was at once aroused, and I turned 
to the group and asked, "What part of Arizona?" 

"Oh, you would not know the place," the English- 
man replied. 

"Maybe not," I answered, "but where was it?" 

"Bisbee." 

"Perhaps you know Mr. and Mr. ," I 

questioned, trying to remember if I had seen him at 
home. His jaw dropped as he Hstened to me. 



66 Behind the German Lines 

''You bet I do," and we nearly dropped into each 
others' arms. 

Stanley Hancock, so he signed his name, from 
Cornwall, England, was the first man I had met 
from home on that side of the water. Thus began 
a friendship that lasted during the next five months. 

As the noon hour approached we were led into the 
yard. A long delay preceded the serving of the soup. 
That soup resembled a most disgusting swill. I ven- 
ture that a good American farmer would not feed it 
to his pigs. The ingredients consisted of sliced 
carrots and cabbage boiled in water with a little meal 
added. It must have been standing for a long time 
before it was served, for the odor and taste were 
worse than decayed sauerkraut. But we ate it — we 
had to, or starve. 

That night we slept in the prison in one of the 
rooms on the fourth floor where we had managed to 
secure bunks. Five or six of us had formed an offen- 
sive and defensive alliance, and one man was chosen 
to watch our belongings until we turned in for the 
night. 

The room was crowded. Frenchmen sat around 
an improvised table chatting over a game of cards. 
A few English Tommies who had obtained some flour, 
probably while on detail at some German depot, had 
rigged a small stove and were baking cakes on the 
warm bricks. Men crowded in the doorway or 
lounged on their bunks, always keeping an eye on 
their possessions. By nightfall the July atmosphere 
was stifling. One window at each end of the room 



^ Laon 67 

was insufficient. An open bucket serving as a latrine 
tainted such air as came in the door. 

I lay awake a long time that night, revolting at the 
conditions to which we were subjected, wondering 
when we were to move on, and where, and more 
especially trying to anticipate an Allied advance. 

A few of us had convinced ourselves that we would 
be in America within a year. I felt sure that the 
war could not last more than six months. German 
morale was broken, German supplies were short, and 
German efficiency was weakening while the American 
strength was increasing daily. 

The next day passed as the former. Rumors led 
us to believe that we would be moved into the interior 
within a day or two. The French and English 
officers and nurses had arrived from the hospital, 
after a tiresome journey by freight, but we did not 
have the pleasure of seeing them. 

Just after dinner — that is, midday soup — a young 
guard was trying to collect a detail. A number of 
us, Americans and English, were lying near the fence 
in the sun. He came over waving his club and yell- 
ing :' 'Komm, lose, arheit' ' (Come, hurry, work) . No one 
moved except a Tommy, who pointed to his Red 
Cross band on his sleeve and said, '' Rothes Kreuz, wir 
wollen nicht arheiten'' (The Red Cross does not work). 
Non-combatants were supposed to be exempt from 
work. 

''Es macht nichts aus, Schwein, komm, lose, lose.'^ 
(It makes no difference, pigs, corne, hurry.) 

A few of us rose and followed. He lined us up 



68 Behind the German Lines 

and then turned to find more recruits for his dirty 
work. His back once turned the Hne disappeared as 
if the earth had opened up. I did not wait to see if 
he succeeded in getting enough men. 

That evening we were issued a travehng ration — 
Limburger cheese, or bloodwurst. Each man re- 
ceived about two ounces of one or the other. 

The ration made it seem fairly certain that we 
would be moving into the interior of Germany. We 
were more than anxious to go, for no camp could be 
worse than the present one and we knew that good 
treatment increased with our distance from the front. 

One of the prisoners who was permanently sta- 
tioned at Laon was selling food which he had stolen. 
I managed to get a can of meat and a can of jam, but 
at an exorbitant price, and marks were scarce. At 
the canteen we could buy an inferior grade of tobacco, 
in fact, that was all the canteen sold. 

But a man could hardly call a cigarette his own. 
Once it was lit, some less fortunate prisoner always 
asked for ''butts on you, buddy," or ''short end, after 
you," if he were English. To refuse was to be selfish, 
though your own butts meant "makin's" later on. 
Nothing was wasted. 

In preference to the cellar or prison building, we 
rolled up in our blankets that evening on a grass 
plot in the yard. The odor from the open latrine in 
the center of the yard did not help matters, but the 
air was fresher. 

The morning of July 31st found us rolling our packs 
at dawn. As we fell in for coffee, each was surmising 



Laon 69 

if we would be moved that day. Once through the 
coffee Hne, the order was given that those who arrived 
in prison at the time we did would leave, together 
with a few others. About nine o'clock we began 
forming. As Lockwood, Heckert, and I had come in 
with the French, we decided we would stay with them. 
Finally the head of the line, formed by French, of 
whom there were over six hundred, began to move 
through the gate. As we three Americans started 
to pass the guard who was counting the prisoners, we 
were stopped. ''Amerikaners .?" he demanded. ''Ja /" 
we replied. And with loud curses we were ordered 
back with the other Americans, about ninety in 
number. We followed the English. 

The line passed out slowly. Would we never be 
out and on our way? 

As we passed over the bridge of the moat, we were 
handed a further traveling ration of hard-tack, one 
sack per man, and that for three days, as we learned 
later. 

Outside the prison, in the square, we were halted, 
recounted, and counted again. By ten o'clock we 
were marching to the station, following the road on 
the northern side of the city, which dropped off the. 
plateau to the plain. 

What small portion of the city we saw that morn- 
ing was fairly bustling with German soldiers and 
officers. 

Twice we were stopped and forced to wait, prob- 
ably while the stupid German sergeant in charge 
tried to untangle his orders. 



70 Behind the German Lines 

A few civilians attempted to engage in conversation 
with us, but the guard, ever alert, always interfered. 
Now and then a German soldier passed and spoke 
to us in friendly English to ask where we were going. 
Of course we did not know\ 

It was nearly noon when we reached the station 
and turned into the freight yard. Naturally enough 
we believed we would entrain immediately, but an 
hour dragged into two, and two into the whole after- 
noon. The sun blazed down upon us. We sought 
the shade of the cars, only to be sent back to ranks. 
We tried to get water, but were harshly denied the 
privilege of helping ourselves from a hydrant. As 
the hours dragged on, one guard exhibited pity to- 
ward us to the extent of letting us fill our canteens. 

It became noticeable as time wore on that a Ger- 
man soldier often would show a degree of kindness to 
those whom he was guarding, providing an officer was 
not around. Once the officer appeared the soldier 
would display all the animosity possible. 

We were fortunate, however, on that trip, for our 
guards were all old men of the Landsturm, and on the 
whole were quite decent to us. 

About six o'clock our train pulled into the freight 
yard, a train made up of freight cars and old third- 
class coaches. Immediately the guards began count- 
ing the column into lots of forty and assigning us to 
the cars. Lockwood, Heckert, and I were fortunate 
in that we were placed in a coach and were together. 
As the trip lengthened, our quarters became cramped. 
Four of us were occupying the vestibule, a space 



Laon 71 

about two and a half feet wide and five or six feet 
long. 

The train started. 

"Thank God that's over with, and may the next 
place not be so bad," someone remarked, as we pulled 
past the station, crowded with German soldiers going 
on leave. 

With our packs for seats, we arranged ourselves 
as comfortably as possible for the journey, the desti- 
nation or length of which was unknown. Of course we 
were going into the interior of Germany, but where ? 

The train was headed northeast across the plains. 
The city of Laon set on the plateau stood out like an 
ancient acropolis behind us, only to appear lower and 
lower as we proceeded. I knew that we would either 
have to go northeast or southeast to cross the German 
border, and, by continuing in the direction we were 
going we would have to pass through Belgium before 
we crossed the Rhine. Once across the Rhine — 
there I refused to reflect further, for I believed wher- 
ever we were bound, our sojourn would not be long. 
The Allies would win — on that I pinned my faith. 

Long trains of munitions, gun carriages, trucks, 
and military equipment stood idle on the sidings as 
we passed. Empty freight cars and broken material 
lay at every small station. This was probably some 
of the 'worn-out rolling stock that Germany in her 
shortage of men was forced to abandon. Among the 
German coaches and cars I noticed those of the 
French. 

After passing Mezieres we had our supper, which 



^2 Behind the German Lines 

consisted of a slice of black bread with some of the 
jam I had gotten at the prison. We realized then 
how fortunate we were to have our own small extra 
supply of food. That one slice of bread was little 
enough, yet it relieved the sting of our appetites, 
and with a poor cigarette afterwards we settled down 
for the night. But settling down for the night meant 
merely sitting up as comfortably as the cramped 
space would allow. Sleep was practically impossible. 
Like all foreign freight cars, the wheels seemed to be 
square. 

Towards morning we dozed off, only to awake at 
daylight stiff and tired. 

Whenever the train stopped, we dropped off to 
stretch our legs and to get water. The guards who 
occupied the last two coaches got off with us, walked 
the length of the train with their rifles slung over 
their shoulders, and kept a close eye on us, keeping 
us near the train and not permitting us to visit with 
civilians. 

We had crossed the Belgian border. As we rolled 
through Namur, the civilians cheered the train, wav- 
ing and calling words of encouragement that were 
only drowned by the rumble of the train. 

Belgium, Namur, Liege, these names brought back 
memories of the early days of the war when that little 
nation made its heroic stand of eleven days — just 
long enough to save France. The country seemed 
too peaceful to breed a warlike nation, yet it was that 
same love of home which made them fight so stub- 
bornly. 



Laon 73 

The farms rested in even plots along the tracks, cut 
by many canals, that wound through the hills. 

While stopping outside the city of Liege for a 
moment that evening, an old peasant woman tried 
to give us some carrots, in fact we did manage to get 
one or two bunches before the guards could stop her. 
They were acceptable, for we had traveled all that 
day with no rations save the hard-tack issued at Laon. 
The journey was proving exhausting to those who had 
no food of their own. 

Near the German border, the guards came with 
huge sacks, ordering us to throw our briquets (cigar 
lighters) and matches in them, saying that it was ver- 
hoten to carry them across the border. Very few 
were given up, the men hiding them in their clothing, 
in preference to losing a souvenir, or the possibility 
of having no light for cigarettes. 

That night passed as the previous one. Our bones 
were beginning to ache and our bodies were too tired 
for us to sleep. Our vestibule, which we thought 
would be more comfortable than a freight car, was 
worse than a closet. 

The other men — all Americans — in the car proper, 
were stretched out in all postures on the seats and 
floor, and one or two had even managed to climb up 
on the baggage rack above the seats. 

At midnight, at a little station beyond Liege, the 
guards aroused us and announced coffee. Coffee 
only in name, but it was hot, and the interruption in 
the journey, the falling in line, tramping over the 
tracks to the station kitchen, even the curses of the 



74 Behind the German Lines 

guards were a relief from the monotonous ride and 
the crowded car. 

We jerked along or were delayed by long stops on 
some siding and the next morning we pulled into 
Cologne. We were now in Germany proper. As we 
lay in the railroad yards, German men and boys — 
mostly boys — who were working there as trainmen, 
came up trying to buy clothes, blankets, and shoes. 
In fact almost anything such as soap, chocolate, or 
canned meat could have been sold. One American 
did trade his shoes for a loaf of bread, and then put 
on an old pair of slippers in their stead. Tobacco 
and bread was what the prisoners wanted. Such 
exchanges as were made were always to the advantage 
of the Germans. Cigarettes of a very poor quality 
sold five for a mark. 

This desire on the part of the civilians to obtain 
second-hand clothing, soap, and other articles illus- 
trated in what straits the people were and the scarcity 
of these articles. Second-hand clothing, from the 
back of a lousy prisoner, appeared to me to be about 
the last thing one would wish. 

Working there in the railroad yards, as switchmen 
and laborers, were a great number of young German 
women dressed in bloomers. They were husky and 
healthy looking, doing the work that a few years be- 
fore was performed only by men. Women and boys 
and old men were practically running the railroads 
of Germany in the absence of the former employees 
at the front. 

That portion of Cologne which we saw in passing 



Laon 75 

on the train was typical of any American city. From 
Cologne south we followed the Rhine through a 
country rich in verdure, and densely populated. 

In the late afternoon we passed through Coblenz. 
As we lay in the station a German troop train pulled 
alongside. The raillery that ensued between soldiers 
and prisoners was a real entertainment. The pris- 
oners laughed at the Germans' boast of victory. 
Cigarettes were purchased from soldiers, while other 
soldiers wanted our blankets. On this occasion there 
was no apparent air of hostility shown on either side 
and even the guards joined in the conversation. 

In the afternoon we stopped at a little station 
.where a large soup kitchen was located for troop 
trains. The barley soup issued was quite acceptable. 
Second helpings were allowed and the soup plates 
were even provided. This was the first hot meal we 
had had in three days. The men fairly gorged them- 
selves, returning to the train happy for the moment. 

This lack of food en route, whether accidental or 
intentional, was not out of keeping with German 
treatment of prisoners. We had heard rumors be- 
hind our lines of mistreatment of prisoners, but so 
far we had suffered very little in comparison to what 
we were to hear from prisoners taken in the early part 
of the war. 

The third night of our journey dragged through, 
hour by hour. What little sleep we were getting 
before dawn was interrupted by the guards who 
awoke us. The train had stopped in a large station. 

''Komm, lose ! lose I lose I " 



76 Behind the German Lines 

We swung our packs and tumbled out on the plat- 
form, where we formed fours. Then followed a long 
tramp through the city streets, now deserted at the 
early hour of four-thirty. 

We were in Giessen, in Hesse, and were going out 
to the prison camp on the outskirts of the city. 

As we filed through the prison gate, we were 
counted and let into an enclosure near the kitchen. 
Immediately soup was served; this promptness was 
quite unusual. 

Broad daylight had come by the time we had fin- 
ished. We waited, wondering if this were to be our 
permanent camp. 

From what we could see of the camp, it was clean, 
and if the soup just issued were a fair example of our 
food, the situation was at least better than at Laon. 
But as the morning passed and we were not assigned 
barracks, we realized our stay was merely temporary. 

Then food was issued the prisoners in the form of 
hard bread and canned goods. This came from com- 
mittees of prisoners' relief of the various nations, 
including French, English, and Italians, but not the 
Americans. This was a disappointment to us, but 
there was nothing we could do. One or two of us 
did manage to buy some hard bread from a German 
who worked for a committee. Of course it was graft 
on his part, and of the worst kind. 

Postals, with blank spaces for us to write whether 
we were well or not, were distributed and mailed. 
This was the first chance many had had to get word 
back that they were alive. 



Laon 77 

A canteen furnished a few odds and ends, mostly 
tobacco. I saw some cubes in a glass jar which re- 
sembled caramels, and bought a dozen, thinking it 
was candy. If I had only thought a moment I 
would have realized that sugar was at a„premium. 
To my disgust, they were bouillon cubes. In a burst 
of enthusiasm, I purchased a German grammar, 
written in French. It took my last mark. An hour 
later I came to the conclusion that my stomach might 
need more food than my brain, and sold it to a 
Frenchman. 

At twelve the guards gave us orders. As we passed 
out of the gate, a large loaf of black bread was issued 
every two men. The loaves were twice the size of 
the regular ones. Later I learned that the generosity 
was merely for show, as representatives from Switzer- 
land were there to inspect the camp and observe the 
treatment of prisoners. ^ 

The march from the camp to the station gave me 
my first view of a German city. The buildings, the 
streets, and even the people, were more of the Amer- 
ican type than any I had seen on the continent. 
Their attitude towards us was passive. A few col- 
lected to watch us tramp past. Now and then a child 
would throw some harmless insult at us or make faces 
at the passing column. 

**Our big strong guard will protect me from such 
women as you," laughed an artilleryman behind me 
as a little girl twisted her face into a childish expres- 
sion of hate. 

By twelve-thirty we were on our train again. This 



7^ Behind the German Lines 

time we were able to learn that we were going to 
Langensalza, in Saxony, where we would be per- 
manently. This time we were also fortunate in get- 
ting seats in a coach which was not overcrowded. 

From Giessen on, we were passing through a rolling 
country. The golden wheat fields stretched for 
miles along the tracks, and the villages nestled in 
hollows, only a few miles apart. I wondered at the 
time whether we would be put to work, and if so, 
whether I would be fortunate enough to be assigned 
to a farm. The answer came within the next month. 



CHAPTER IV 

LANGENSALZA 

We arrived at the Kreigsgefangenenlager, Langen- 
salza, the next morning, August 4th, at five o'clock. 
We were led through the gate, over the corduroy 
road that ran the length of the camp, and into an 
enclosure. Our guide had made a mistake and we 
were taken to another enclosure, lined up five deep, 
and counted. 

Coffee and bread were issued. The French were 
assigned two barracks and the Americans, English, 
and ItaHans one, but later the Italians were moved 
to the French barracks, due to trouble between the 
Americans and the English and the Italians. 

The second day we were registered, filling in cards 
on which we gave our names, nationality, army, or- 
ganization, civilian trade, education, and a few other 
details. Then we were assigned prison numbers. 
The next day we were issued these numbers, printed 
on two little square pieces of muslin, and told to sew 
one on our coats and the other on our overcoats. 

We were instructed by a young officer, who spoke 
English, that we would be treated well so long as we 
behaved; that we were under Prussian military law, 

79 



8o Behind the German Lines 

and would be tried and punished according to that 
law. His accent was peculiar but his attitude rather 
friendly; however, that did not lighten our burden, 
or relieve us from the thought that we were to be 
in quarantine for two weeks. 

In the afternoon, we were sent over to the delouser. 
The process was similar to that in most American 
camps. The prisoners objected very strongly to 
having their heads shaved, but to no avail. We went 
to the shears like sheep, and the large automatic 
clippers in a short time made us look like real con- 
victs. While this was going on our clothes were 
going through a steam sterilizer. After the bath the 
clothes began to arrive. A German called out the 
numbers and we claimed our own. 

Among our number was an Indian trooper, with 
turban and long hair and beard. Much to my sur- 
prise, the Germans permitted him to retain his hair 
and beard. To have lost them he would have lost 
his caste on return to India. The German attitude 
in his case shows they possessed at least a bit of 
consideration. 

Our barracks, or the room of the barracks we were 
occupying, was able to accommodate perhaps three 
hundred men. The bunks were arranged in three 
rows which ran the length of the room, and were not 
built against the wall. 

The lack of food during those two weeks in quar- 
antine, and the two weeks immediately following, 
represented my starvation period in Germany. The 
day began with roll call at six, after which coffee ar- 



Langensalza 8i 

rived in huge buckets of which there was not always 
enough to go around. Then a detail arrived with the 
black bread, which was issued one loaf for seven men. 
Another roll call came at one, and another at four- 
thirty. Beet soup was served at noon and night. 

A notice in English was posted informing us of cer- 
tain restrictions. We were not to smoke in the bar- 
racks, or to lie on the bunks C'beds" as the notice 
read) in the daytime, and numerous other small 
things were prohibited. 

During the afternoon of the second day, the Eng- 
lish prisoners who had been in camp for many months 
sent to us three or four blankets filled with food which 
they generously contributed. The old prisoners — 
French and English — were receiving regularly par- 
cels from home and from their relief committees. 
Moreover, there was a committee of prisoners repre- 
senting their respective organizations in camp. 

The English received their parcels every week from 
England and were also issued hard bread by their 
committee in camp. The French received most of 
their food from their committee in camp. 

The three or four blankets of food sent over by the 
English were distributed among the English and 
Americans. When distributed it did not amount to 
very much per man, but we were careful and made it 
last for three days. Nothing ever tasted quite so 
delicious as those crackers with a bit of canned beef. 

One morning soon after our arrival our German 
officer informed us we would be inoculated against 
cholera and typhus. A German and an English doctor 



82 Behind the German Lines 

made the injections. We had no choice in the mat- 
ter — we had to take them. But for all we knew, they 
might have been injecting disease germs into our 
systems. It had been reported that such was done 
in some camps. As time went on, however, we found 
it was not so in our case. It seemed to me that the 
German doctor took delight in sticking that needle 
into us. He worked quickly and deftly, with an evil 
twinkle in his eyes. On the other hand the English 
doctor, a young fellow, worked with less skill, but 
with gentleness. 

Many of the prisoners were selling anything they 
had to other prisoners outside of our enclosure, and 
with the money buying cigarettes or trading their 
articles directly for food. I went through my pack in 
the hope of finding something with which I could 
part and which would bring either food, tobacco, or 
money. My Gillette razor and fountain pen seemed 
the only articles worth while. After a great deal of 
arguing and haranguing through the barbed wire 
fence that shut us oE from the other prisoners, I was 
able to sell both for the sum of thirty-six marks. As 
I was to use Lockwood's razor from then on — a 
medical razor he had helped himself to at the hospital 
— I shared the money with him. The money was soon 
spent for tobacco and biscuits. 

We were permitted to write two letters and four 
postal cards a month. The paper was of a prescribed 
form and orders were that we were not to mention the 
war. We took it for granted that anything said in 
criticism of the Germans would be censored. Very 



Langensalza 83 

little else was left for us to write except to ask for 
food and clothing. As before, I wrote first to Major 
W. H. Brophy, in Paris, then to my company com- 
mander, and later, home. Those letters were always 
very unsatisfactory to me, being limited in length and 
contents. 

About this time we were ordered to turn over all 
written matter for censorship. I had destroyed every- 
thing of value, so that my pocketbook contained only 
a few photographs, and a small card on which I kept 
an abbreviated diary of my movements. To my 
surprise, everything was returned with the censor's 
seal stamped on the back. 

Books were sent us from the camp library to read, 
but these were not sufficient to go around. They 
included Shakespeare, Pilgrim's Progress, the Bible, 
and some old English novels. The books were a 
great help to the men in passing the long weary hours, 
although in many cases they would have preferred 
lighter reading. 

Another order demanded that we change all money, 
French, English, or German, into war prisoners' 
money, Kriegsgejangenengeld. The exchange was 
somewhat lower than it should have been. For 
French money we received three and a half marks for 
five francs. The prisoners' money was issued as a 
hindrance to escape, and although civilians were 
forced to accept it, it always being redeemable for 
state money, they preferred the other. At the can- 
teen in camp this was the only money accepted. 

Our quarters became almost intolerable as the 



84 Behind the German Lines 

confinement continued. The yard between the 
barracks was barely large enough to hold the prison- 
ers at roll call. In rainy weather this yard became a 
mass of sticky mud, although it dried quickly in 
clear weather, becoming as hard as a pavement. 

The three roll calls a day were a source of irritation 
and some amusement. The German sergeant, typi- 
cal of his race, with his piggish eyes set in a red, 
bloated face, and his round head resting on a bull neck, 
attended every roll call with the dignity of a poten- 
tate. His broadsword clanked at his side, almost 
trailing on the ground. He inspected us frequently 
to see that our shoes were clean and our clothing in 
order. That was a joke, for how were we to keep our 
apparel in order with no equipment? 

On several occasions he lost his temper, flying into 
a rage and bellowing orders which we could not 
understand. Twice he drew his clumsy sword, strik- 
ing his victim with the flat side across his back. One 
morning he asked for volunteers for carpenter work 
and shoe repairing. Several French stepped forward, 
but none of the English or Americans. 

We counted the days one by one as they dragged 
by. During the second week the French committee 
began issuing hard bread to the French, and also to 
the Americans, as we had no committee of our own. 
This was indeed a godsend. The biscuits were sent 
in huge cases, and divided so that we had about forty 
apiece which lasted us a week. The biscuits re- 
sembled buns and were three or four inches in 
diameter, and very hard. By boring small holes in 



Langensalza 85 

them, soaking them in water for a moment and then 
placing them in the sun for an hour, the result was 
that they swelled to almost double their size and 
tasted, at least to us, very delicious. It was by great 
restraint that we did not eat them the first day or two. 
Very few men made their ration last the whole week. 

The process of delousing had been successful as 
far as that animal went, but the fleas could not be got 
rid of no matter what we did. They kept us awake 
at nights, biting persistently, to our great discom- 
fiture. To scratch was to risk infection, so I just 
gave up and let them have their way. 

The sanitation around our barracks was excellent. 
The Germans enforced certain rules with heavy pen- 
alties if disobeyed, and this was for our common 
good. 

Nothing of particular interest happened during the 
two weeks of quarantine. Walking around our 
enclosure furnished our only exercise. Through the 
wire fence we could look out over the parade ground 
and watch soccer games, but these only took place in 
the evenings or on Sunday afternoons. The rest of 
the day we lay around visiting and swapping stories. 
Generally the conversation turned to food, delicious 
tempting food we had eaten back in the States — food 
that made our mouths water to think of, and to curse 
our luck for not being able to have it then. The war 
and the Germans came in for their share of our talk. 
Could our thoughts have been realized, the Empire 
and the Kaiser and his subjects would have gone to 
the lowest depths of hell to sufiEer untold tortures. 



86 Behind the German Lines 

On August 20th the quarantine was Hfted and we 
were permitted to wander at large in the camp, which 
contained about fifteen thousand men of all the Allied 
nationalities. Nearly half of these, however, were 
working in neighboring villages and cities, on farms, 
in mines, or in factories. 

Double twelve-foot barbed wire fences enclosed 
the whole camp. At the gates armed guards were 
always on duty, and other guards were stationed 
at various points around the camp. 

The barracks were immense. Each barrack was 
divided into three rooms, not connecting. Each 
room would comfortably house about two hundred 
men, that is, from six to seven hundred in each bar- 
rack. The barracks were situated around the large 
yard, which included the football field. In one cor- 
ner of this field was a small barrack in which was 
located the postoffice, censor office, and one end was 
used as a storehouse for the English committee's 
food, although most of the food was kept at the 
committee tents, the French occupying two and the 
English one. 

The fences of barbed wire were so arranged be- 
tween barracks and fields that any portion of the 
camp could be shut off from the rest. That, of course, 
was in case of an uprising among the prisoners or in 
case of sickness and quarantine. 

The hospital, set off from the rest of the camp, was 
forbidden territory without a pass. After we left 
quarantine, several of the English medical men who 
were with us when we arrived at Langensalza were 



Langensalza 87 

assigned Work in the hospital. On the one occasion 
when I went there to see an American, I was not 
impressed with the cleanliness of the wards or the 
efficiency of the attendants. The patients were on 
cots. The nationalities were not segregated. From 
what I could learn there were not sufficient medicines 
and supplies to meet the demand. 

The second day after our quarantine was lifted, 
all of the American prisoners were sent to Rastatt, 
where the American camp was situated, except twelve 
of us of the Medical Corps, and in our ignorance we 
believed we were'better off remaining in Langensalza. 
We learned later that the American camp was by 
far the better of the two. 

At the time of registration we had to establish our 
identity, either by papers or by our army dog tag, 
which gave our name, number, and rank. My own 
identification, a road pass issued me by the French 
army, was taken and not returned until a month 
before I left Germany. Many of the men had no 
identification, and the non-commissioned officers 
were worried for fear they would be classified as 
privates and put to work. As it later developed 
rank made practically no difference at Rastatt. 

As the Americans marched out of camp I felt in- 
deed like a stranger in a strange land. They had 
been the rank and file of the new American army; 
they had seen action as fierce as any of the poilus, and 
they had suffered slavery behind the German lines, 
only to leave unbroken in spirit, and their courage 
unimpaired by imprisonment. 



88 Behind the German Lines 

That same morning, August 22d, we who remained 
moved with the French and EngHsh to other bar- 
racks, we being quartered with the EngHsh. Our 
numbers were changed and mine became 6.9740. 

We settled down to the dull existence of prison 
life, living on German soup, barley coffee, and French 
biscuits; sleeping — when the fleas permitted — on 
bare boards, with only two blankets; answering roll 
calls at unreasonable hours, and doing such work as 
we could not avoid. 

The working details were picked at the roll call 
immediately after breakfast, that is, about seven 
o'clock. The first job I got was loading manure 
from the pile near the pig pen, into a wagon which 
was taken out on the prison garden. In the after- 
noon we went out and spread it with a fork. 

On another occasion, a detail of which I was a 
member spaded a beet field. That morning we 
worked hard as the guard who stood over us, allowed 
only a minute or two of rest at long intervals. Usu- 
ally on detail we took our time, as the guard was 
indifferent as to how we worked. 

One morning the detail list would be taken from 
one end of the roll call line, and on the next morning 
from the other. If we were fortunate enough not to 
be assigned, then we made ourselves scarce for the 
rest of the day, anticipating that an extra party might 
be called out. The guard had a habit of dropping 
into the barracks during the day and picking out 
anyone he saw. We soon learned where to go to 
avoid this by either going out on the parade ground 



Langensalza 89 

or to another barrack where the EngHsh non-com- 
missioned officers, who were exempted from work, 
were quartered. 

All manner of rumors drifted through camp con- 
cerning the war and ourselves. When we heard the 
rumor that we would be sent out on farms or to fac- 
tories, we decided it could be no worse than living in 
confinement and dodging details in camp. 

The rumor was finally verified when a call came for 
volunteers . The older prisoners advised us to accept . 
As for myself, and as did the other Americans, I 
decided it would be better to be sent. I did not wish 
to volunteer to work for any Hun. If they wanted 
me they would take me, and there would be no 
argument. 



CHAPTER V 

ESCHENBERGEN 

On August 30th a party of us received our final 
orders. From all I could learn I was to be sent to a 
farm, while the other Americans together with some 
Englishmen were going to factories. Whatever the 
work might be and wherever we went we could always 
be returned to camp, if the circumstances warranted it. 

Those of us who were in the Medical Corps had 
all objected to working, for according to international 
law we were not supposed to do any work save in a 
hospital, but the Germans laughed at our remon- 
strances. 

Our guards took us to the station of Langensalza, 
a two-mile walk from the camp on the other side of 
the town. What little I saw of the town did not 
impress me as very unusual, although the houses were 
of typical German architecture. My guard — I felt 
like a hardened criminal having an armed guard all to 
myself — had little to say to me, and I doubt if I could 
have understood his jabber had he tried to carry on a 
conversation. 

As we stood that morning on the station platform, 
the small group of prisoners chatted merrily, wishing 

90 



Eschenbergen 9i 

each other good luck in the lot that might befall 
them. The partial sense of freedom, the bright 
morning, with a breath of autumn, and the unknown 
that lay ahead, cheered us considerably. 

I climbed on a third-class coach behind my guard, 
as the fellow overlooked politeness and his duty in 
mounting the coach ahead of me. It was with a 
feeling of curiosity, and I must admit it was with a 
hoHday spirit, if not adventure, that I watched the 
farm land roll past the window. I then suddenly 
reaUzed that it was harvest season, and I was prob- 
ably to be given that work. This was all right, if 
they would only feed me sufficiently. I knew noth- 
ing about farming, and what little I would learn 
would do me no harm. At least it would be ahealthy 
existence in the open air. 

An hour's ride brought us to the little station of 
Baldtstadt, where my guard swung his pack and with 
a short *' komm'' to me we got off and started down the 
road, my guard in the lead as before. The country 
road was wide and well graded, a state highway I 
judged. Soon we left this, taking a small crossroad. 
Now and then we passed laborers working in the 
fields, most of whom were women. 

My immediate attention was attracted by the 
apple and plum trees that lined the road, as shade 
trees do in America. The three-mile walk that 
followed did not seem long, as I was occupied clan- 
destinely in helping myself to plums. Fruit never 
tasted so good to me as it did that afternoon. It was 
the first fruit I had eaten in months. 



92 Behind the German Lines 

Through one village we passed and on to the next. 
In the second village, my guard led me to a large 
frame building with Gasthof painted across its front. 
We went upstairs. There in a large room were rows 
of beds on the three sides. I managed to understand 
this was where I was to sleep. Leaving my pack 
there, he took me over to a farmhouse and introduced 
me to my chef or boss. 

Herr Karl Fleischbauer stuck out his hand in a 
friendly manner. Not wishing to incur enmity on 
first acquaintance I returned the greeting. I looked 
an elderly man in the face, a face pinched from open- 
air work and a narrow life. He was not of the usual 
German bulk and build, being rather slight and bent. 
He must have guessed my thoughts, as it was nearly 
two o'clock and I was hungry. On the kitchen table 
stood a pot of barley coffee and a pile of what I 
learned later were called tarts. He motioned me to 
sit down and ess en. 

There was no hesitancy on my part. I fell to 
work and made a meal of what was considered to be 
only tea. Three cups of coffee, with milk but no 
sugar, and as many tarts, revived my spirits. By the 
time I finished, my guard had finished talking with 
my boss, and had left. As I rose from the table Karl 
motioned to me to follow. 

We went out the back door and I got my first view 
of a German farmyard. Immediately at my feet 
lay the manure pile, not four feet distant from the 
back steps. On the right of the yard ran the build- 
ing that housed the goats, pigs, rabbits, chickens, and 



Eschenbergen 93 

geese, while the loft was used for hay. At the rear 
was the large barn for storing grain, for housing the 
large wagon, and for threshing by hand in winter. 
On the left ran the building that housed the five 
cows and four calves, while the loft contained hay. 
Next to this was a small shed for feed and potatoes, 
which was joined to the house by a roof over the 
wood pile. On my left and in the house proper was 
the horse stall with the door opening out on the 
manure pile. That explained the proximity of the 
manure pile to the house. 

That was a typical German farmhouse, barns, and 
yard. The whole was so arranged that the house and 
barns joined, forming a hollow square, the center 
being the farmyard. The entrance to the yard was 
through a huge double door in the front of the house, 
the roof extending over it the width of the house, so 
that from the outside it appeared that the door 
opened up into the house, while as a matter of fact 
it opened into the courtyard. 

Of the interior of the house I saw practically noth- 
ing except the kitchen where all the cooking was done 
and which served as a dining room. The room 
opened off of the hall on the left of the front, so that its 
one small window looked out on the road and allowed 
the old lady to keep in touch with most of her neigh- 
bors' comings and goings. As the road which 
passed by the house was the main street of the village 
and led to the other villages and on to Gotha, this 
little window served as an observation point for all 
the village movements. The interior of the kitchen 



94 Behind the German Lines 

was plain, containing only the oven, or brick stove 
built into the end of the room, the table and chairs, 
and a cupboard. The stove was a curiosity to me. 
At first it looked crude and inconvenient, but later 
as I watched the old lady do her simple cooking I 
realized some of its advantages. Built into the wall 
and occupying the breadth of the room, it stood three 
feet high on its right and front half. In the front 
was the stove proper with its two movable lids where 
pots might be placed. The left half, two feet higher, 
enclosed the oven, while immediately below were two 
fire boxes, each for its individual use, and had its 
doors opening out into the room, which when opened 
served to heat the room. 

As I followed Herr Karl out into the yard, and then 
into the road, I found his family of five seated in a 
small farm wagon. As we climbed in he mumbled 
something to me and to them and they nodded. 

His wife was an ugly looking old woman, her teeth 
missing, her hair frowsy almost to the point of being 
matted, and when she raised her voice in anger she 
seemed to possess all the characteristics of an old 
witch. With her were three young women whom I 
took to be her daughters, and a small boy of about 
eight, her grandson. 

In a moment we were jogging over the road and out 
into the country. A two-mile ride brought us to a 
wheat field. So that was to be the job, just as I had 
surmised — harvesting. But the way harvesting as 
done in America is very different from the manner in 
which it is done by the German peasants. 



Eschenbergen 95 

The old man hitched the horses to a mowing ma- 
chine and began cutting down broad swaths of wheat. 
The woman raked it up, the small boy placed straw 
binders on which the armfuls were laid, and two of us 
followed behind binding them into sheaves. 

The work was hard for me at first, the straw 
binders clumsy, or I was, and the nettles among the 
wheat were harsh on the hands. The amount of 
work I did that afternoon amounted to practically 
nothing, and I could not keep pace with the daughter 
that worked with me. In fact, she had to come back 
and do part of my share as well as her own. The old 
man explained the manner of tying sheaves, the old 
lady added her knowledge, and the three daughters 
gave valuable advice, but I proved awkward to say 
the least. 

At four we stopped for a rest, and a bite of black 
bread, with beef grease and salt on it. It tasted good 
nevertheless. The work continued till six. We had 
tied and stacked all the sheaves of grain the old man 
had cut. 

Riding back to the house that evening I was not so 
enthusiastic nor sure that I wanted to work on a farm. 
At least I decided to give it a few days' trial. I would 
wait and see what the work was like and how I was 
to be fed. 

At the house a broom was placed in my hands 
and the horse stable pointed to. This looked like a 
doubtful job. Before I could begin, the old man 
snatched the broom from me and gave me a demon- 
stration. Thereafter that became my evening duty. 



96 Behind the German Lines 

I did not mind it as long as the horses' heels were 
quiet, and their heels were quiet as long as they were 
eating, so I insisted that they should be fed before I 
began to work. While I was at this work the others 
were busy about the yard, and by a quarter of seven 
supper was ready. 

Supper was not to be scorned by a hungry prisoner 
just out from camp. Boiled potatoes and gravy con- 
taining pork followed the soup. That was all, but 
it was in sufficient quantity to make a generous meal. 

After supper, one of the daughters and I moved 
a wooden bed over to the Gasthof, where the prison- 
ers' sleeping quarters were. The setting up of the 
bed was an easy matter. Then straw was spread 
over the slats, a hard mattress followed, and then a 
soft one made from down. In place of blankets, a 
large but very light mattress of down, similar to the 
lower one, served as covering. By the time we had 
finished, and the girl had left, the prisoners began to 
return for the evening. 

During the next half hour, as the prisoners filed 
in, one or two at a time, I became the center of at- 
traction. In all there were eighteen ; twelve Russians, 
three Frenchmen, two Italians, and a Belgian. Most 
of them had never seen an American before, so that 
with what little French I knew, I was kept busy 
answering questions as best I could. I was treated 
to beer and cigarettes, scarce as they were, and so I 
found myself a member of a rather mixed company, 
where my native tongue was useless. 

The Gasthof was a beer house, and our sleeping 



Eschenbergen 97 

quarters, before the war, had been a dining room or 
meeting hall. At one end was a small platform, while 
on two sides ran a gallery. On the walls hung Ger- 
man mottos, which I never managed to translate, 
though from one or two of the words I judged they 
advised people to "eat, drink, and be merry." 
Suitable advice for such a room. Several crude oil 
paintings, added to the faded grotesque paper — an 
imitation of marble — gave the room an ancient tone, 
while the wooden beds arranged along the walls, and 
the clothes hanging above them, gave the place an 
appearance of a school dormitory. 

The short, rotund proprietor of the place served us 
beer, or manufactured soda water, at twenty pfen- 
nings the glass. Having no bell to call him by, we 
merely stamped on the floor until we heard him 
puffing up the stairs. 

At nine, the guard, who slept in an adjoining room, 
carefully locked the doors and turned out the lights. 
For this I was thankful, for I had answered so many 
questions that I had almost exhausted my vocabu- 
lary on the first night. 

It was a joy to get into a real bed again and to have 
all my clothes off. In camp we curled up in blankets 
after removing our shoes and stockings, and, as one 
man put it, only the snobs removed more. As I 
figured, even my dirty clothes were cleaner than the 
blankets that had been used in Langensalza Kriegs- 
gefangenenlager for nearly four years by the prisoners 
of every Allied nation. As I sank low in the down 
mattress my worries ceased and I drifted off to sleep. 



9^ Behind the German Lines 

The shuffling of the men getting into their clothes 
awoke me. It was just getting light. I got up, 
dressed, and went over to the farm. Following the 
guard's example, I walked in. The, family were at 
the table having coffee, that is, coffee and bread or 
tarts. 

My work immediately after breakfast was to cut 
the hay for the day. This was done by feeding a 
mixture of one third alfalfa and two thirds straw into 
a cutting machine, and at the same time furnishing 
the motor power by turning a large handle. The 
hay came out cut in two-inch lengths. This fodder 
was for the horses and the goats. 

The day thus begun, my duties included practi- 
cally every kind of work, at least every kind of un- 
skilled work. When asked if I knew how to plow 
I replied in the negative and Karl never attempted to 
teach mie. He probably judged that I was too stupid 
to learn. 

The mid-morning meal usually consisted of a slice 
of bread spread with beef grease or cheese, rarely 
butter. 

If we went into the fields to work in the morning, 
we always returned at noon for the noonday meal, 
which was ordinarily soup and bread. The meal once 
finished, there was no time afterwards for leisure. 
Work was the order of the day, and eating was con- 
sidered a necessary hindrance. 

The harvesting took nearly a week. Wheat, oats, 
and barley were cut and tied and the sheaves stacked. 
The only machinery used was the mower, the rest 



Eschenbergen 99 

was hand labor, done principally by the women. 
The eight-year-old grandson did his share also, al- 
though only light work. Once the field had been har- 
vested, it was again gone over with a huge rake and 
the stray grain collected. This did not make more 
than two sheaves and required much tiresome labor. 

The German peasant is thorough in his work, sav- 
ing at every turn, regardless of the labor spent. But 
the old man was wont to leave most of the heavy work 
and the drudgery to the women, and the women, 
accepting the situation, worked like slaves, patiently 
and unceasingly, with never a word of complaint. 

After the harvest was over, which took nearly a 
week of long tedious hours and left me worn out 
each night, I was given small jobs around the house 
or garden. 

The most pleasant, and for me the most satisfac- 
tory work, was picking apples and pears. Every ripe 
pear or apple I ate, so that a good portion of my time 
I spent at the end of a tall ladder, gazing at the rolling 
country and munching fruit. If my work took me 
into the garden, apples were always near by. 

The old man raised his own tobacco in a small 
patch in the garden. One morning, while taking 
some grain up to the attic of the house I spied 
bunches of leaves drying. I helped myself to a bunch. 
In comparison to the tobacco we could buy, that 
home-grown product of his was quite fine, but I dared 
not smoke it around his place for I realized he would 
know where it came from and stealing was a serious 
offense for prisoners. 



loo Behind the German Lines 

None of the prisoners considered it stealing to take 
anything one could get away with, as they were per- 
forming forced labor for five cents a day. It was 
quite legitimate, so long as one were not caught red- 
handed, but there was practically nothing around the 
place that I wanted. Once in awhile I would have a 
raw egg, taking care to dispose of the shell. I was 
watched closely, or I thought I was, for some member 
of the family was usually in sight, especially if we 
were in the fields. However, I preferred to be alone 
for conversation was out of the question. 

One evening, as I was cleaning the stable, a well- 
dressed elderly woman came out the back door and 
stood watching me . When I stood up to meet her stare , 
she spoke in English with scarcely a German accent. 

''You are an American?" she asked. 

"Yes." 

''How do you like Germany?" 

I tried to avoid a discussion by changing the sub- 
ject to America and herself. 

"Yes, my husband was an exchange professor in a 
university in the United States. I was visiting here 
when war broke out and was unable to return to 
America and to him." 

We chatted a few minutes in a friendly manner. 
She had come out from Gotha for eggs. Although 
she did not admit it her inference was that food was 
very scarce in the city. 

"What do you think of the war?" she demanded. 

"You are German, I am American ; we do not agree, 
so I will express no opinion," I answered. 



Eschenbergen loi 

"We did not begin the war," her very denial 
indicated a guilty conscience seeking justification. 

"Madame," I replied, "you are a woman of educa- 
tion, not a peasant; your husband is a professor; you 
have traveled, but you cannot see this question of the 
war straight because you are German and your Ger- 
man papers tell you Hes which you beheve. In a 
few years, when the opinion of the world with its 
verified truths is in print, you may possibly know 
how I think now, and what I consider your nation to 

be." 

Standing there on the manure pile, with a broom in 
hand, I made my little speech. Perhaps I had said 
too much! When I was given the opportunity to 
speak Enghsh, I let loose, as I had long since become 
furious on the subject of who started the war. 

Her eyes fiashed, and as she went into the house she 
picked up her skirts as if my company might con- 
taminate her. 

On the few rainy days we had, which prevented 
outdoor work, the women did threshing with hand 
flails. I was given a course of lessons, but not liking 
the work, I increased my clumsiness, and came so 
near hitting the others on the head with the stout 
hickory end of the flail, that they finally gave me up 
in disgust. 

From then on the wood pile was my place on rainy 
days, or at times when there was nothing else to be 
done. No time-server ever looked at the clock of- 
tener than I did during the day while on that farm. 
My watch, which I reUgiously kept out of sight. 



I02 Behind the German Lines 

counted the hours to the next meal, or to the end of 
the day. 

The day over, I returned to the Gasthof. One of 
the Frenchmen, a young fellow from Morocco, be- 
came my greatest companion during the evenings. 
Strolling around the village we exchanged views and 
impressions, and my French improved with each day. 
He was always eager to hear about New York and 
America, and asked innumerable questions. 

Did we have a peasant class in America? Was 
everyone rich in my country? What were the 
American soldiers like? And were there many in 
France? I tried to answer him honestly. 

When I knew him better, he told me of himself and 
his family. He had been a prisoner for fourteen 
months, during which time he had been on seven 
farms and in three factories. He hated the boches — 
hated them as only a Frenchman hates, not showing 
his hate, but always brooding over the injustice and 
cruelty of the Hun. He had been in prison for pun- 
ishment seven times during his captivity, all for 
trivial offenses. 

I had arrived in the village of Eschenbergen on a 
Friday. The following Sunday, on which day prison- 
ers did not work, was the first of the four that I spent 
there. As the guest of the Frenchmen, Italians, and 
Belgian, those Sundays will long be remembered 
for the real dinners we had. The food that was sent 
them was saved for Sunday, and that one meal was 
enough to satisfy us for the rest of the week. Boiled 
rice, rabbit or chicken bought from a farmer or stolen, 



Eschenbergen 103 

beans or peas, French biscuits and coffee made the 
meal. 

The Belgian acted as cook, using the proprietor's 
kitchen, while a small room off the sleeping room 
served as a dining room. The meal was always a 
jolly affair. The conversation was carried on mostly 
in French, with a few words of Italian and German 
thrown in, where an explanation was necessary. 
These occasions carried me back to pre-prison days 
when I spent long evenings at a French dressing station 
over a game of cards and a bottle of Pinard. The meal 
being over and the few dishes washed, we all took a 
walk until it was dark or lingered about the steps of 
the Gasthof watching the young people who passed in. 

Sunday night in the village was the one evening of 
the week when the people, young and old, dressed 
in their best clothes and came to the Gasthof to drink 
beer. We were not permitted in the bar, and, had we 
been, we would not have associated with the Germans. 
Young people, boys and girls, trooped in laughing and 
joking, and now and then a song rang through the 
evening. It was a surprise to me, being the first 
expression of lightheartedness I had observed. As 
I learned later it was the one day and evening when 
work was forgotten. 

As everywhere, there were no young men in the 
village, although the girls were numerous, as were the 
children. They and the old people, together with a 
few prisoners, were doing the farm work, keeping pro- 
duction up to normal and furnishing their share of 
food for the army. 



104 Behind the German Lines 

Unlike our American farms and our farming dis- 
tricts, the German villages were compact, one house 
built against its neighbor, with no yard between and 
no front yard. Each house with its barns, as I have 
mentioned before, was so arranged that it could be 
locked at night, leaving nothing exposed to thievery. 
Every farm was suspicious of its neighbors. All the 
houses being in the village, the fields were necessarily 
in the outlying district. 

Herr Karl's land lay in five different fields, none of 
them adjoining. He was quite well off for a peasant, 
as was shown by the number of cattle and acres he 
possessed, probably about two hundred acres in all. 
Some inhabitants in the village had only an acre or 
two which furnished a bare existence. 

During my second week the young Frenchman was 
sent to another farm as a result of a quarrel with his 
chef. Not until he had left did I realize what a com- 
panion he had been. That evening I made up my 
mind I had had enough of Eschenbergen and the 
Gasthof, with its mixture of nationalities. From 
what I had learned from the other men, I knew that 
the quickest and easiest way to leave was to make 
my work so unsatisfactory that I would be either sent 
back or given another place. So I began to loaf on 
the job, to work carelessly and slowly. When chop- 
ping wood I sat down, taking my time over each stick. 
Herr Karl remonstrated with me, but I did it my own 
way in the end. 

On September I2th, my first Red Cross box arrived. 
Words cannot express the joy that I experienced as I 



Eschenbergen 105 

unpacked the contents. Canned food, consisting of 
beans, peas, corn, salmon, corned beef, corned-beef 
hash, jam, coffee, milk, sugar, dried figs, a bar of soap, 
and six pounds of American hard-tack. About 
thirty pounds in all. And last, but not least, five 
sacks of precious Bull Durham. It was my chance 
to return the hospitality of a Sunday dinner, so I let 
the Belgian help himself to the box. That night I 
felt that my country had not forgotten me. In the 
succeeding days the boxes of food had as great a 
moral effect on my spirits as did the food on my 
physical condition. From that time on hunger was 
a thing of the past and I began to live better than 
my German keepers. 

The following week my first mail arrived, a letter 
from Mother, forwarded from Paris, and a letter from 
an American woman in France. With the realization 
that events were progressing satisfactorily with the 
Allies, and with the knowledge that all was well at 
home, the immediate future could be borne with a 
more cheerful heart. Those letters came like voices 
out of the dark, and their torn condition marked my 
appreciation as they were read and re-read. 

The evening after my mail arrived the guard an- 
nounced that I was to leave at six the following morn- 
ing. Upon being questioned he told us I was going to 
a neighboring village to work for a Frau. So I had 
done my last work for Herr Karl. I was not dis- 
appointed. The work had been hard. During the 
harvest I had put as many as twelve wagonloads of 
grain in the barn each day, lifting the sheaves into 



io6 Behind the German Lines 

the loft on the end of a twelve-foot fork, and there was 
the threshing still to be done. I was indeed glad that 
I was not to be returned to camp. Plenty of exercise, 
a comfortable bed, and good food were not to be 
scorned. Langensalza camp was better than Laon, 
and a farm better than either. 

After our Sunday night supper in the little room 
adjoining our sleeping quarters, I slipped over to 
my chefs house for the few toilet articles I had left 
there. No one was in the house so I never saw them 
again. A farewell was unnecessary. If his remem- 
brance of me is as unpleasant as mine is of his estab- 
lishment, he must have had no regret at my going. 

In my three weeks there I had received no word of 
cheer, not a pfenning of pay, and seldom a smile. 
The mornings began with a gruff morgen, and when 
I left at night, it was with a feeling that they be- 
grudged me the hour or two before sundown. I was 
glad to try my luck elsewhere. 



CHAPTER VI 

ILLEBEN 

Monday morning, September 23d, I said good-bye 
to my camarades, Russian, Italian, French, and the 
Belgian, swung my luggage to my shoulder, and fol- 
lowed my guard down the stairs and out of the vil- 
lage. We took the same road by which we had come 
three weeks before. After a few minutes' wait at the 
station, we boarded the train going in the direction 
of Langensalza. As the train tumbled on, I thought 
possibly the guard was lying about my going to an- 
other farm, but half an hour's ride brought us to 
Eckartslaben, a few miles this side of Langensalza. 

A woman stepped forward and spoke to the guard 
and he pointed to me. She looked me over with an 
appraising eye and after a moment emitted a number 
of 'Va'5," thus showing her approval. With a 
''kommr' thrown over her shoulder, she started off. 
My guide remounted the coach. 

Eckartslaben was not my destination. Chatting 
with some friends, the Frau led the way to the next 
village, by name Illeben, which lay almost hidden 
among the trees and rolling hills. 

My first impression of the Frau was good, to say 

107 



io8 Behind the German Lines 

the least. She was a woman of about thirty -five, 
neatly dressed in a fashion not suggestive of a farm- 
er's wife. Her face, though not kindly, was pleas- 
ant and her manner authoritative. Taking things 
as they came, I immediately decided my change had 
been for the better. 

At a fork in the road her companions left her and 
she turned her attention to me. With what little 
German I had picked up in the past weeks, we man- 
aged to carry on a conversation, which, freely trans- 
lated, ran in this order: 

"Are you a farmer by trade?" she questioned. 

"No." 

"Can you plow?" 

"No." 

"Oh, well! You'll learn how here." 

I assented that I might. 

' ' Why did you leave the other place? ' ' I shrugged 
my shoulders for answer. 

"Did they not feed you well?" 

"No!" I said, in the hope it might influence her to 
serve a better meal. 

We entered the village, which during the next two 
months was to become so familiar. As we walked 
down the winding street, I heard the little windows 
squeak open, and out of the corner of my eye, I could 
catch the sight of curious old women poking their 
heads out to see who was going by. Quite uncon- 
scious of the fact that I was creating comment, I 
looked around me with the innocence of a farmer 
visiting New York City for the first time. 



Illeben 109 

Her house stood in the center of the village at the 
right angle turn of the main street, so that it was 
situated on what might have been called the village 
square had there been one. A creek ran through the 
village and near the house. On its banks geese 
waddled in the mud and called noisily. 

As we entered the door, I noticed painted in large 
letters across the front of the house Zur Tanne. 
The question which rose in my mind was answered as 
soon as I crossed the doorstep and caught a glimpse 
of the bar. I had gotten into another beer house. 
Did the woman believe for a minute I was a bar- 
tender? 

After leading me upstairs to a small room over the 
hall and with a window looking out over the street 
we returned to the bar, where she drew me a glass of 
beer. That and a huge slice of bread with Dutch 
cheese was my friihstiick. As I ate my breakfast, I 
looked around me. The bar was small, and took up 
half the width of the room, being on the right side of 
the door that led to the hall. Two tables with 
chairs stood on the street side of the room, while on 
the other was one table with an oil-cloth cover, and a 
small coal stove and a couch. On the walls were 
prints of the Kaiser and his family, a notice urging 
subscription to the submarine war campaign, and a 
calendar. The three windows looking out on the 
street were curtained. The whole room bore an 
atmosphere of business mingled with home life. 

By the time I had finished, Frau Hess returned. 
A decided change in her appearance met my eye. 



no Behind the German Lines 

She had donned her working clothes. An old hand- 
kerchief was bound over her head, a rough dirty skirt 
replaced her neat dress, and her sleeves were rolled 
up. 

'^Kommr' she ordered, not unkindly, when she 
saw I had finished. I followed her to the back door 
at the end of the narrow hall. Her back yard was 
similar to the one at Eschenbergen, though very 
much smaller. The high manure pile lay at the door- 
step, and took up a good part of the yard. Behind 
it stood a wagon loaded with hay. To this she 
pointed, at the same time handing me a pitchfork. 
She disappeared up the stairs of the barn and in a 
moment swung open the loft door. I fell to work 
pitching the hay up to her. 

That finished, we wheeled the wagon out into a side 
street beside the brook. When she opened the stable 
door I expected to see horses, but in the semi-dark 
stall stood two sleepy looking cows and a young 
heifer. 

Harness in hand she gave me my first lesson in 
hitching up the two cows. It was a simple matter. 
The tugs were fastened to a headgear, one rein served 
the purpose of two and with our legs dangling from 
the board seat and the cows taking their time, we 
started for the fields. As we passed through the 
village I noticed that Illeben was much smaller than 
Eschenbergen and not so prosperous looking or clean. 
It took us fully half an hour to reach the Frau's 
potato field. 

I had dug potatoes before, at Eschenbergen, so 



Illeben m 

that the job was not a new one. One sack of po- 
tatoes and a few cow beets was the result of what Httle 
we did that morning. 

When Frau Hess gave me instructions that even- 
ing in feeding the cows, I saw that I was to have a 
freer hand in the work than on the last farm. This 
pleased me, for the work would be less monotonous. 
Frau Hess probably knew nothing of the psychology 
of interesting an employee, yet by giving me an ac- 
tive part in all phases of the farm work, she created 
an interest in the work and I did more than I would 
have otherwise. 

During supper that evening I was pleased to learn 
that there were two Englishmen in the village. This 
was an added attraction to my new place. Now 
there would be company during the evenings. 

I had just settled down at one of the tables in the 
barroom — we also had all our meals there — it being 
the general living room of the small household, when 
in walked the two Englishmen. An introduction was 
unnecessary; we shook hands cordially and sat down. 

As in the former village, I was the first American 
to arrive, and the news that I gave my newly made 
companions was the first authentic information of the 
war they had received in months, as they had not 
been in Langensalza for some time. The evening 
passed all too quickly. I was more than glad to be 
able to bear good tidings, not to mention the pleas- 
ure of being with Englishmen again. 

The older of the two men, John Campbell, a 
Scotchman from Natal, South Africa, had been a 



112 Behind the German Lines 

prisoner for over two years, most of the time being 
spent on the farm on which he was now working. 
Campbell was past middle age, slight in stature and 
quiet in manner. Like the true Britisher that he was, 
he had answered England's call in the early part of 
the war, had gone into training and then to the front, 
where he was wounded and captured. As he told 
me: *'I was on duty as an outpost alone, supposing 
at the time reinforcements were behind. When the 
boches came over I plugged away at them till they got 
me. Not till the Hun line passed over me did I 
recover consciousness and find that I was only 
slightly wounded." The deep lines in his face told 
of his suffering more plainly than he put into words. 
Harry A. Turner, of Melbourne, Australia, was 
the other Britisher — a dark-haired, dark-eyed, force- 
ful man in the prime of life. He also had been a 
prisoner for over two years and had served on the 
farm most of the time with Campbell. The exact 
details of the capture of these men, when and where 
they were taken and to what regiment they belonged, 
I am unable to state, as my notes made at the time 
were lost. But their picture as they walked into the 
room that evening will never be lost. Their neat 
black uniforms issued by the British relief committee, 
were set off by polished buttons. Their short and 
snappy salute brought back to me a picture of Eng- 
lish troops on their way to the lines, in full equip- 
ment, stepping forward with as much energy and 
order as if on parade. I was proud to know two such 
soldiers. 



lUeben 113 

Frau Hess entered into our conversation consider- 
ably that evening, one of the Englishmen acting as 
interpreter. Her greatest interest was in me, while 
that of the Englishmen was in the war. 

One of the Frenchmen at Eschenbergen was re- 
ceiving almost daily a copy of the Petite Parisienne, 
for which his chef had subscribed for him. The 
night before I had left I had read the latest of these, 
so that I knew of the advance on Metz and of the 
later activities along the front. That first evening 
was far too short. For more than a week I was 
answering questions both from the Englishmen and 
the Frau. 

The men left about nine, as their chef locked up 
about that hour. I turned in shortly afterwards. 
As I lay in bed reflecting on the day's developments, 
I congratulated myself on being so happily situated. 
Frau Hess had never had a prisoner before, yet she 
managed during the four years of the war to run her 
small farm of twenty-five acres with the aid of her 
niece and her neighbors. Why she wanted one now, 
the Englishmen, as well as her friends, could not 
understand, and I never learned just why. At least 
she and her place were an improvement on my 
former position. I rolled over and went to sleep, 
pleased with the present prospects. 

The window of my little room had stood open dur- 
ing the warm weather. When it began to get cold 
Frau Hess told me to keep it closed, particularly at 
night, lest the night air should make me sick. In 
answer I explained that we never slept with closed 



114 Behind the German Lines 

windows in America, even in the winter. But it 
did no good. According to her notion of hygiene, 
I would kill myself. A few^ days later the Frau calked 
the cracks around the door of my room, telling me to 
keep the cold air to myself. She and her son, I 
noticed, slept in her room with all the windows and 
the door closed. 

A rapping on my door the next morning about six 
o'clock told me that it was time to get up. I dressed 
after a good night's sleep and went downstairs. 

The first job in hand was to feed the cows and clean 
out the stall. That took only about half an hour and 
was followed by coffee drinking or breakfast, which 
consisted of coffee and bread. Thus the day began. 

In the few weeks that followed, the potatoes had to 
be gotten in, the cow beets pulled up, their tops cut 
off and the beets themselves stored in the cellar. I 
was thankful that I had not another crop of grain to 
harvest like that at Eschenbergen. 

Digging two acres of potatoes was bad enough, for 
it was all handwork and tiresome. Fraulein Paula, 
the Frau's niece, and the Frau herself worked with 
me, and at times only the Fraulein and I worked 
together. The ratio between the work we accom- 
plished — that is, when the niece and I were working 
alone — and the German I learned during our conver- 
sation, was about equal. 

Paula was only eighteen, a buxom young lass of the 
German type, though not of the usual German fair- 
ness. We would work busily for a few minutes, then 
she would sit back on her heels and ask questions 



Illeben 115 

about America or the war. My answers were always 
more or less exaggerated, both in regard to the suc- 
cess of the Allied armies and concerning the beauty 
and wealth of America. 

At three or four in the afternoon the Frau would 
come out in the wagon, cow drawn, with a milk can of 
hot coffee and some cake. The cake was nearer our 
brown bread in flavor than real cake, but it was 
acceptable and the short rest prepared us for the 
remainder of the day's work. Then we would all 
fall to work until the potatoes were in sacks. The 
wagon was then brought up, the Frau and Fraulein 
loading them into the wagon, while I, at their direc- 
tion, stood in the wagon and arranged them. The 
load being complete, we drove back to the house. 
Paula walked back across country to start supper. 
The Frau rode on top of the potatoes, and I tramped 
alongside, tending the cows and the little screw brake 
on the side of the wagon when we came to the long 
hill dropping down into the village. 

By half past six my chores were over and the day's 
work finished. At the washbasin in the kitchen I 
cleaned up and then retired to the bar. The English- 
men had lent me a few books and with these I 
settled down until supper. 

Our suppers usually consisted of boiled potatoes, 
flaxseed oil, and salt, or at times it was only tea and 
bread and butter, and on one or two occasions, choco- 
late and bread, the chocolate having been sent from 
the front by the Frau's husband, who was an unter- 
offizier in artillery. It surprised me that the Frau 



ii6 Behind the German Lines 

would serve a prisoner with chocolate, as that article 
was very scarce and in the villages sold as high as 
fifty marks a pound. Its value as compared to sugar 
is illustrated by the fact that Turner traded a quarter 
of a pound of cocoa to a woman for three and a half 
pounds of sugar. However, the woman's husband 
was in charge of the distribution of sugar in the vil- 
lage, and at the time of the trade asked Turner to say 
nothing of the exchange. 

During my first evenings there, Frau Hess de- 
manded to know all about me and my position in civil 
life. Turner and Campbell acted as interpreters so 
that she managed to understand. 

"What did you do in America? " the Frau asked. 

''Nothing," I answered. 

** Nothing?" The Frau looked at me as if I were 
crazy. 

"Nothing." 

"What does your father do?" she demanded. 

"Nothing." 

The Frau was amazed. When I told Turner he 
was a lawyer, he remarked: "Well, I don't know the 
German for that, so I'll tell her he is an official of a 
State; we'll make him a governor, how's that?" So 
Turner explained at great length my father's mythical 
position. As the Frau grasped the meaning of it all, 
a light came into her eyes as she exclaimed : 

''Achldu bist ein Kapitalistf' 

''Ja! JaT' I lied. That started things. From 
then on I was a marked man. The Frau quizzed me 
herself and then boasted to the whole village of her 



lUeben 117 

prisoner, so that I was an object of curiosity. The 
village was so small that gossip was the chief topic of 
conversation, and everybody knew everybody else's 
affairs. 

Often in the fields the Frau and I would be work- 
ing together, when she would stop and lean on her 
pitchfork. 

"Women in America don't work, you say?" She 
would sigh. 

"Oh, no! Not as they do here in Germany," was 
my answer. 

'^Ach, Gott in Himmel! and look at us poor crea- 
tures." Perhaps I was sowing seeds of discontent 
in the village, or perhaps only telling her how the 
other half of the world lived. At least I jarred her 
out of her German complacency and gave her food 
for thought. 

But American life was not what I wanted to talk of 
most. By telling of the American army, and its 
great numbers, I figured I might do a little propa- 
ganda work on my own part to make the peasants in 
the village realize that America was not bluffing and 
thus, perchance, weaken the morale of the sons and 
fathers at the front. Whatever I could say would 
have only a very little effect, if any at all, yet it 
might help. So, when asked concerning the Ameri- 
cans, my reply was: 

"Three million Americans at the front, five million 
awaiting transportation to France, and fifteen million 
are in training." 

To which Frau Hess exclaimed : 



ii8 Behind the German Lines 

''Ach, Gott in Himmel!'' and raised her arms in 
distress. 

At other times she would laugh at me and explain 
that we had no ships, that the submarines were 
sinking them all. 

"Oh, no!" I would answer; "for instance, the 
Vaterland, which your papers reported as sunk, is 
bringing ten thousand troops, fine American soldiers, 
every trip. Figure it out yourself." 

The potatoes dug during the previous afternoon 
had to be stored in the cellar the next morning. The 
first few loads were put in a bin at the far end of the 
cellar for immediate use. The place being dark and 
cool they would keep all winter. The last fifty sacks 
were piled up in the corner of another part of the cel- 
lar, a part that I knew was used as the cow beet bin. 
The potatoes finished, we began work on the beets. 
It took nearly a week to finish these. 

One morning the Frau led me down cellar. After a 
long explanation on her part I understood that she 
wanted me to build a wall of beets in such a way as to 
hide the potatoes. I then realized why she had left 
the last fifty sacks of potatoes in the bin. It was a 
simple case of food hoarding. 

By the light of a candle I built the wall. It was not 
hard work, but very exacting. If one beet became 
loose the wall caved in and I had to begin over again. 
When it was finally finished, after two days, I called 
the Frau. 

"Just as well as my husband could have done!" 
was her comment, I didn't know whether she con- 



Illeben 119 

sidered that a compliment or an insult. Maybe I 
was learning a little about farming, but I most cer- 
tainly did not relish the idea of being in a class with 
her boche husband. 

As I had sold my razor in camp, I went to the bar- 
ber while in Eschenbergen, every Sunday morning. 
He shaved me for fifty pfennings. The Englishmen 
came to my rescue at Illeben, where there was no 
barber, by giving me a razor. But that did not cut 
my hair, and it was growing rapidly. Turner offered 
to cut it, but I declined with thanks. Campbell 
offered his services, which I also refused. Frau Hess 
finally got a barber. A chair was placed in the back 
yard and the Frau, arms akimbo, stood back to watch 
the proceedings. As the German was about to begin, 
I realized he was going to make a clean shave of the 
affair with the use of clippers. I rose : 

"You are not going to cut it all off?" I asked. 

I objected. I was not ashamed of the shape of 
my head, but I was not going to lose all of my hair. 
The Frau seemed somewhat disappointed, but there 
was no hair-cutting that morning. 

Sunday was a day of rest for the prisoners, and 
Frau Hess did no work on that day. However, I 
consented to feed the cattle on Sunday — that was the 
extent of my work. 

After breakfast I went over to the Umbriet place, 
where Turner and Campbell worked. They occu- 
pied a small room in the barn, built over the stable. 
Their first night on the place Herr Umbriet had 



I20 Behind the German Lines 

locked the door at the bottom of the stairs that led 
to their room. The Englishmen kicked it down. 
After that was repeated on several occasions, the 
crabby old farmer learned to leave the door unlocked. 

The old man was not only crabby, but crazy — 
verilcktj his neighbors and family called him. He was 
close, stingy, and industrious, lording it over his fam- 
ily, servants, and neighbors. No one in the village 
liked him, although he was one of the wealthiest men 
there, having married money, as it were, his farm 
being really owned by his wife and stepdaughter. 

When Turner and Campbell went on the place, 
they resolved to make the German understand that 
they were English ; that the English were an entirely 
different race from the Huns, being gentlemen at all 
times. Such an attitude was hard to take, let alone 
to maintain in the face of peasant ignorance, lack of 
manners and morality, and the ever-present German 
pigheadedness. 

From the beginning they refused to eat at the same 
table with the family. That was a point I had not 
thought of, and it was too late to change. In my 
case, however, I was in a more kindly disposed house- 
hold. The result of their stand was that they had a 
table in the kitchen by themselves, and that they 
lived better than the family for whom they worked, 
for together with the German food they had their own 
food parcels sent from England. In many instances 
the Frau would cut down on the food given them, 
thinking they had plenty of their own, then Turner 
would fly into a rage, imitating the German method of 



lUeben 121 

argument, and food would sometimes be forthcoming 
and sometimes not ! 

Often I would go over in the evening before they 
had finished supper and sit in the kitchen visiting. 
One evening I found Turner in jolly mood, and this 
was the cause. The family had guests for supper. 
The meal served that night was mainly boiled pota- 
toes. When the Englishmen sat down to their sup- 
per and began peeling their potatoes, they found them 
frozen and unfit to eat. Turner saw his chance. 
No one was in the kitchen. Hastily he exchanged the 
bad potatoes for the good ones in the family dish and 
he and Campbell continued supper. Undoubtedly 
the Frau had intentionally served them with the bad 
ones, but she made no comment, although Frieda, 
the little house servant, was unable to suppress her 
merriment when she came from the dining room. 

Frieda was a sketch. ''A typical little EngUsh 
barmaid," Turner used to say. Small and active, 
she slaved for her mark a day from five in the morn- 
ing until late at night. I often watched her as she 
worked in the kitchen in the evening, and she watched 
us too! I honestly believe she understood more of 
our conversations than we gave her credit for, at 
least she had a good opportunity for picking up 
English. 

Another prisoner, Bert Gilbert, of London, joined 
our group shortly after my arrival at lUeben. Gil- 
bert had enlisted at the outbreak of the war for a 
period of seven years. He was then only nineteen. 
During the first week of fighting, during the retreat 



122 Behind the German Lines 

from Mons, he had been captured. Having been a 
prisoner for four years, his experience, or what Httle 
of it he would tell, is typical of the sufferings of 
prisoners taken in the early part of the war. 

''Why, boy!" he often said to me when I was com- 
plaining of something, "you don't know when you're 
well off. You have suffered nothing compared with 
others around you. The Germans you are living 
among are a very docile race compared to those back 
in '14." He was right! 

Gilbert was wounded and neglected, but a skillful 
operation at the last moment had saved his life. Be- 
fore he had been sent to the rear, he had seen one of 
his regiment crucified alive with bayonets at Mons. 
His first rations in a prison camp had been one dried 
herring a day, the bones of which were saved and 
traded with the Russian prisoners for cigarettes. For 
punishment he had stood for five hours at attention, 
barefooted in the snow, his hands tied to a post be- 
hind him. On his back he bore marks of a cat-o'-nine- 
tails, received while working in a salt mine. He had 
been in most of the camps in Germany ; had done all 
kinds of work ; had attempted to escape over and over 
again, only to be caught, sent back, and punished. 
But all this had not broken his zeal. 

When he came out to us, he immediately became 
the life of the party — if a nightly gathering of prison- 
ers in the heart of Germany can be called a party — 
and his wit and humor during an evening were worth 
the day's work. 

Many were the hours that we four spent up in 



lUeben 123 

Turner's and Campbell's room exchanging views, 
discussing the war, and cursing out the Germans. 
Practically from the four corners of the globe: 
London, South Africa, Australia, and Arizona, we 
were each able to contribute stories of our own coun- 
tries that not only brought a laugh, but were heard 
by the others only to be credited as fiction. From 
those long visits I felt that I had learned enough to 
find my way around London, or to converse with a 
native Hottentot of Africa, or to start homesteading 
on the plains of Australia. 

The relative assistance rendered by the various 
Allied nations brought forth a world of discussion, 
and when we had finished, we were no further than 
in the beginning. The Englishmen joked me about 
the American conceit, and the foolishness of think- 
ing America would alone win the war. Yet they all 
conceded that the outcome would have been uncertain 
and probably tragically deferred, had we not entered. 

Sunday was our real recreation day. After Sun- 
day dinner the four of us would go over to a neighbor- 
ing village to visit two Englishmen who worked there, 
or else Paine and Moss would come over to Illeben. 
Wherever we went, tea was served the guests. On 
the occasions that Paine and Moss acted as hosts, we 
met on the top of a hill just outside of the village, 
exchanged greetings, and continued on together. Gil- 
bert always suggested stopping at the beer house for a 
couple of drinks before tea. The couple of drinks, 
however, were merely beer and that of a poor quality, 
as hops and other usual ingredients were forbidden 



124 Behind the German Lines 

during the war. Tea followed, real English tea, with 
cream and sugar, crackers, jam, and butter. The 
anticipation of packages, the latest war news gathered 
from the papers and rumors, and even the village 
scandal, were discussed. But each weekly meeting 
broke up all too early in the afternoon, tor we were 
required to return to feed the cows ! 

On the few occasions that Paine and Moss came to 
Illeben, either Turner and Campbell acted as hosts, or 
I did. Not having a large room of my own, the bar 
became our meeting place and Frau Hess, without 
comment, boiled the coffee for us but I could see the 
idea displeased her. What few little favors the Frau 
granted me were well worth her while, for she was the 
only woman in Illeben who had real coffee twice a 
day. 

At this time my food parcels were coming from the 
Red Cross regularly ever}^ ten days. As I could not 
boil the coffee myself, I turned it over to the Frau and 
she prepared and served it. She was able to make a 
pound of coffee last ten days, much to my surprise. 
The rest of the food I did not share with her, even 
though we ate at the same table. At first this was 
embarrassing, but I realized that I was under no 
obligation to her; that she was my enemy and the 
enemy of my country and that the packages were sent 
by the Red Cross to sustain my life as a prisoner of 
war and not to aid the Germans against whom a 
blockade was being maintained » As I opened a can 
of corned beef, she would look wistfully at it, but I 
simply divided it and put half away for the next meal. 



lUeben 125 

''Taste good?" she would ask. 

" Ja/ /a/" was my answer, as I began eating 
without offering her any. 

By careful use the thirty pounds lasted the allotted 
ten days. On several occasions I was able to help 
out the Englishmen when their food was delayed, and 
they in turn frequently helped me. 

On two rainy days during the first week in October, 
we did some threshing. The Frau had not enough 
grain to require the use of an electrical thresher, so it 
became necessary to use a small hand affair. The 
baker, a neighbor, and I furnished the motor power, 
while his wife, another woman, and the Frau fed the 
machine, bundled the straw, and raked off the chaff. 
For twenty minutes at a time we would turn the 
crank and then rest five minutes. During one of our 
rest periods, I heard the first openly expressed doubt 
on the part of the peasant, that Germany was not 
going to win the war. 

The baker looked at me and asked : 

' * Germany is defeated ? " 

'' Jaf' I answered, and then came the chorus of 
'' Jal JaT' from the women . 

From then on neither the Frau nor her neighbors 
tried to put up any bluff concerning Germany's 
situation. They openly discussed affairs before me, 
but unless directly addressed, I did not enter into the 
conversations. 

Fresh meat was seldom served, but one morning 
the Frau announced that she was going to kill a goat. 
The butcher's son, a boy of sixteen, did the killing 



126 Behind the German Lines 

and dressing. That was practically the first fresh 
meat I had seen served in Germany, and then the 
Frau only served it on Sundays and Wednesdays. 

The next meat that we had was a month later, 
from one of the pigs, killed in November, after the 
weather had begun to be cold. The work of killing 
him and making the meat into sausages took prac- 
tically the whole day. The sausage and the sides of 
bacon were delicious the few times the Frau served it. 
The sausage was packed in glass jars with a layer of 
lard over the sausage. The whole process of killing, 
preparing, and curing the pork was interesting, 
especially as nothing was wasted. 

The German farmer is very economical in all things. 
All straw is saved and used for bedding the animals, 
thus increasing the manure pile. The manure is so 
placed that a cistern is built beneath and all water 
saved. This water is in turn pumped into huge bar- 
rels and sprinkled on the fields. The tops of beets 
are spread over the beet field and turned under during 
the plowing. The old potato vines are saved and 
used for cattle bedding. Crops are rotated so that 
no field produces the same grain or vegetables two 
years in succession. 

Many of the farmers instead of storing their beets 
in a cellar, dig pits about two feet deep, in which the 
beets are heaped, making piles that rose four and five 
feet above the surface of the ground. Over these 
piles is placed straw or potato vines, and then a layer 
of earth. Stored in this manner the beets neither 
rotted nor froze. 



Illeben 127 

Herr Umbriet, for whom Turner worked, had a 
beet pit eighty paces long. In his avariciousness the 
old farmer had planted thirty acres of beets, planning 
to sell them to the government for five marks the 
hundredweight. Beets fell in price to a mark fifty 
the hundredweight by harvest time and his neighbors 
had the laugh on him and he had the beets on his 
hands. 

Peasant life in the village was very dull and com- 
monplace, although quite different in many respects 
from life in an American farming district. The 
German never dreamed of shortening his hours of 
labor, nor did he waste any time on pleasure. Work, 
prompted by the motive of money, shon Geld as they 
expressed it, rubbing their thumbs and forefingers 
together, was their sole ambition; and work they did, 
steadily, patiently, and untiringly. Even the soldiers 
returning on leave immediately went to work in the 
fields, as a matter of course. 

Fridays and Saturdays were baking days. The 
peasants made their own loaves, huge ones about 
two feet long, and then took them to the baker to be 
baked. As each loaf bore the owner's initials, there 
was never a mixup. The baker's shop, or house and 
shop combined, was across the street from Frau 
Hess's. Early on Friday mornings I would be 
awakened by the tinkle of the bell on the shop door 
as the peasants carried in their bread. The tarts, 
which I first tasted at Eschenbergen, were also baked 
there. These tarts, although only about half an inch 
thick and usually covered with sliced apples or plums. 



128 Behind the German Lines 

measured fully three feet in diameter. It was a 
common sight to see girls taking them to the baker's 
balanced on their heads, while under each arm was 
carried a loaf of bread. 

The distrust that the peasants showed for one an- 
other was amazing and well founded. Every night 
they locked their doors with as much care as if they 
were living in a large city. Implements left in the 
fields over night were stripped of all detachable parts. 
One evening I left a plow scraper near the plow, and 
the next morning it was missing. Small articles, such 
as pitchforks or spades, if left even during the noon 
hour, had to be camouflaged. 

Nearly every evening, about seven o'clock, the 
town crier passed down the street, ringing his bell and 
announcing food prices or other items of interest. 
An unnecessary proceeding, it seemed to me, for 
Illeben, being within two miles of the railroad, was 
easily reached by the papers. Frau Hess, although I 
believe she was an exception to the rule, took three 
daily papers ; those of Langensalza, Gotha, and Erfurt. 

At first these papers held no interest for me, being 
printed in German script. When I finally obtained a 
dictionary, I was able to read the headlines and the 
communiques. But even those had to be taken with 
a grain of salt. One item which always amused me 
was the naval report of tonnage sunk by the sub- 
marines. This ranged from thirty thousand to 
fifty thousand tons a day ! 

Another page that always caught my eye was 
the one which contained death notices in the form 



Illeben 129 

of large advertisements, published by the friends of 
those killed in action. 

The town crier had a rival in the village night 
watchman. This, official began his rounds at ten, 
ringing a bell also, and calling out: ''All is well." 
At ten, eleven, twelve, and one o'clock he made his 
rounds, going through the same performance. Usu- 
ally I heard him make his first round, then no more, 
although frequently the last round would awaken me 
from a sound sleep. Just what good that watchman 
did was a puzzle to me as the village streets were 
lighted by electricity, although the lights were turned 
off at ten. 

Government authority rests with a heavy hand on 
the peasants. A certain percentage of the produce 
from the fields had to be given to the military and a 
farmer was taxed in accordance with his acreage. 
Sufficient was allowed the people upon which to live 
and plenty for the cattle and spring planting ; the rest 
went to the army or to the city. 

Food hoarding was the common practice in the 
village. Every animal — cow, pig, goose, or goat — was 
registered and had to be accounted for to the bur- 
gomaster. Yet these rules were evaded. One old 
farmer killed two pigs in one week ; the first one was 
permitted by law, but in place of weighing it, he 
weighed a small one and reported its weight and killed 
a large one; the second pig was killed on the sly at 
night, and the burgomaster not only received a quar- 
ter of the pig for his silence, but he helped in the 
killing. Gilbert also was a party to the slaughter. 



I30 Behind the German Lines 

Frau Hess reported that three of her geese were 
stolen, while, as a matter of fact, she sold them, boast- 
ing to me that she had received two hundred and 
ninety-five marks for them — an equivalent of about 
fifty dollars. 

Gilbert's chef, sl wise old man, realized that Ger- 
many would be defeated and that the paper money in 
circulation would then decrease in value, so, to avoid 
a loss, he bought as much livestock as possible, thus 
getting value received for his money before the de- 
preciation. On one occasion he bought a colt, paying 
as much as seven thousand marks for it. 

Sugar was allowed only to the peasants who raised 
flax and then only a small amount per person. Frau 
Hess received a sugar ration for me, which, of course, 
I never even saw. 

Under these conditions, it was no wonder that the 
peasants were anxious for the war to end and their 
husbands to return home. With each week their 
criticism became more open and their distrust in the 
success of their army increased. 

One evening I was sitting in the bar with the Eng- 
lishmen. Several old men were at a table visiting 
over their beer with the Frau. Rudolph, her son, 
suddenly burst into the room singing Deutschland 
ilber Alles in his childish voice. As his mother 
stopped him, one of the old men remarked: "Yes, 
and Germany will have no allies shortly!" The 
same old man, a few days after the armistice, com- 
mented: "For God, for Kaiser, and for Fatherland! 
We don't know if there is a God, and the Kaiser has 



lUeben 13^ 

run off to Holland, and I think it is rather hopeless 
trying to do anything for the Fatherland." 

In October I began plowing. The baker acted as 
my instructor for the first lesson and then the Frau 
took me in hand. Plowing with cows is quite a differ- 
ent matter from using horses. They would plod 
along, taking their time, stopping now and then to 
look back in the hope that I had forgotten them and 
only moving when the long whip wound around their 
legs. As the afternoon drew to a close, they objected 
more and more to work, refusing to obey any verbal 
commands. With only one rein it was impossible to 
make them follow the furrow once they had decided 
to do otherwise. My only other choice was to un- 
hitch them and let them go home. The plowing of 
twenty -five acres took nearly two weeks. Those two 
cows led a miserable existence. When I had taken 
them back after a day in the fields, the Frau milked 
them. If the cows did not give enough milk, the 
woman would fly into a rage and beat them with a 
long club. Like beaten curs they would cringe into a 
corner of the cowshed, so that it was apparent her 
cruelty was a habit. 

If it were possible to enjoy life at all, under the 
circumstances, I certainly enjoyed those weeks in the 
open left to my own thoughts and the memory of 
better days. 

Often I would pass Turner as I returned from the 
fields. My appearance afforded him many a good 
laugh as I sat on the side of the old farm wagon, yell- 
ing commands to the cows. One look in the mirror 



132 Behind the German Lines 

would explain his mirth. My hair was over my ears 
and so long that my fatigue cap would barely stay on 
the back of my head. The old suit that Turner had 
given me bore the traces of two years' wear, while the 
red bandana handkerchief around my neck added to 
my picturesque appearance. My trousers were 
tucked into a pair of German army boots, size eleven, 
which were out of all proportion. Those boots were 
useless. A huge hole in the toe admitted quantities 
of dirt, and the two pieces of cloth — a German issue 
for socks — were worse than nothing at all. I might 
as well have been barefooted. When my shoes had 
worn out, the Frau had written into camp for another 
pair, sending in the old ones as was required. But 
the new ones never arrived, or at least I never saw 
them. My suspicions were that they were received, 
but the Frau kept them for her husband. 

I was sadly in need of clothes. The first Red Cross 
box forwarded to me from Nuremberg, where I was 
reported to have been sent, and which did not reach 
me till October in Illeben, contained a shirt, a suit of 
woolen underwear, some socks, and a few toilet ar- 
ticles. Those insured a weekly change and kept me 
warm as the autumn advanced. Had not Turner 
and Campbell, as I have said, furnished me with an 
extra suit for working, and an old pair of shoes, I 
would have been in a sad condition. 

A German woman commented to Gilbert on the 
slovenly condition of the American, meaning me. 
When he replied that I had nothing more than what 
I wore when captured, that the German government 



lUeben 133 

gave nothing to the prisoners, she apologized for her 
remark, saying that she did not know that. 

Our clothes may not have been up to the military 
standard, but our conduct in the village, our tales of 
our home countries, concerning both our democracy 
and prosperity, gave the peasants the impression that 
England and America were countries which de- 
manded their consideration. 

Frau Hess, shortly after my arrival, expressed her 
thoughts concisely when she remarked: '^Ach! 
America is a land of swine and manure!" Yet the 
day after the armistice, she referred to America as 
"the Great Sister RepubHc!" 

Frau Hess was a good German peasant. She 
obeyed the mandates of her state and believed all 
that appeared in the papers. I say that she was a 
good German peasant: she was, according to the 
German standards. There her goodness ended. 
What kindness she showed me was merely a matter of 
policy — that I understood clearly — and I was on my 
guard not to permit her to get the upper hand or to 
place myself in any way under obligation to her, lest 
she take advantage of the situation. At first she 
offered to pay me twenty marks a month, which I 
refused, asking only the seven that she was required 
to pay. At the same time she would steal my soap 
and ask me for Red Cross food. In place of accusing 
her of stealing the soap, which I knew she would 
deny, I told Gilbert and he told a servant in the 
household for which he worked, so that the story 
came back to her from other sources in the village. 



134 Behind the German Lines 

Her attitude was not submissive by any means, yet 
in a way she catered to me. On one occasion her 
niece lost her temper and began heaping harmless 
German curses on my head. In the midst of the row, 
the Frau walked into the room and demanded an 
explanation. To my great surprise she made the 
girl apologize. Later, the Frau stated to me that a 
girl should never swear. Whether that was the cause 
or not, Paula soon left the place. 

One misty morning, late in October, in place of the 
usual work, the Frau told me to clean up, that we 
were going to take the flax to a mill in a distant vil- 
lage. I shaved and got into my old khaki uniform. 

The trip was a change and a bit of a holiday for me. 
Each of us carried to the station on our shoulders a 
fifty-pound sack of flaxseed, she placing hers in a 
basket which was strapped to her. That was the 
manner in which all peasant women carried their 
bundles and their vegetables to the market. I should 
judge that many carried as much as a hundred pounds. 

On the train from Eckartslaben to Gotha, where 
we changed trains, I had a long chat with a French- 
man who was on his way to a new Kommando. He 
gave me what little news there was from the camp at 
Langensalza. While waiting in the station at Gotha 
a German came up to me. 

''You are English?" he asked in broken English. 

"No, American," I answered. 

''So? Well, you will be going home in a few 
months — the war will not last much longer now." 

"Why do you think that?" I asked. 



lUeben 135 

* ' Oh ! I know it, Germany is beaten. We have no 
food — we cannot continue the war without food. 
When it is over I am going to England or to Amer- 
ica," he said. 

"Are you? Well, England has passed a law for- 
bidding Germans to enter the country, and the 
Americans will probably do the same, for they will 
not soon forget what the Germans have done in the 
war," I replied. 

"Well, we will see." He shrugged his shoulders 
and walked away. 

At Lambach, our destination, we went immediately 
to the mill. The miller's wife asked the Frau to have 
coffee with her. It was in the early afternoon. As 
for me, she was in doubt, but she finally included me 
in the invitation. The next half hour I would not 
have missed for considerable. I, a prisoner, sitting 
there in a prim little German sitting room, balancing 
a teacup, while I kept out of the conversation as 
much as possible, answering in my broken German 
only when spoken to, was amusing to say the least. 

With a jug of flaxseed oil, we started home — that 
is, back to Illeben — ^in the early afternoon. Every 
time we changed coaches, going and coming, and we 
changed twice both ways, the talk among the passen- 
gers eventually turned to me, and the Frau took great 
delight in relating my history, repeating all I had told 
her of the war and America. She told her story six 
times that day, and each time I was looked over by 
the whole car as if I were a new breed of animal, in 
place of a common Gefangener, Pretending that I 



136 Behind the German Lines 

understood nothing, I looked out of the window. 
Only once did I join in the conversation and that 
was when a young girl said that America was a 
good country for her brother was living there, but 
that she feared he might have been thrown into pris- 
on as she had not heard from him since the war began. 

"Where does your brother live?" I asked. 

"In Akron, Ohio," she answered. I then told her 
that there was no need to worry over him, that as 
long as he behaved himself he would not get into 
trouble. 

During the last part of our journey a German sailor, 
a huge fellow, wearing several decorations, harangued 
the peasants in the car. From the few words that I 
could understand, it was plain that he was talking 
sedition, urging a revolt, if necessary. With his 
broad hands he gesticulated and his deep powerful 
voice held the attention of the passengers. From 
what he said I gathered all was not well with the 
German navy, and the men realized it. As events 
developed later, this sailor was but one of the many 
participating in the revolt at Kiel. 

November began my sixth month as a prisoner. 
The weather was getting raw and the cold bit my 
fingers as I worked in the fields or in the garden. I 
had finished planting the early grain, but there still 
remained more plowing. The Frau had been urging 
me to finish that before the ground became frozen 
and snow set in. Rumors of Allied victories, German 
retreats, and a general advance of our lines, had been 
numerous. The peasants talked more openly of a 



Illeben i37 

probable German defeat. A shepherd, one afternoon 
during that first week in November, told me that the 
war would be over in a month. At the time I laughed 
at him, firmly believing that two or three months 
would pass before the Kaiser would surrender. I did 
not for a minute think that the Kaiser would abdicate. 

The evening of November loth, I retired early. 
Long after midnight visitors lingered in the bar and 
I could hear their voices raised in discussion. Little 
did I realize that a rumor had reached the village of 
the news I was to hear the next morning five hours 
before the signing of the armistice. 

When I sat down to coffee the next morning, the 
Frau told me what we had been waiting so long to 
hear. 

"The war is finished!" she exclaimed, "and my 
man will soon be coming home." I could hardly 
believe my ears. In answer to my question, she 
continued: '' Ja! The Kaiser has abdicated. King 
George of England has abdicated and President 
Poincare and President Wilson have both been 
assassinated." 

"That is a lie!" I answered, believing nothing that 
she had told me. Not until the Langensalza paper 
arrived, did I fully realize that she had spoken the 
truth in part. 

"The war is over!" that one sentence rang in my 
ears all the day like some song I had only dreamed of 
hearing. The actuality was too good to comprehend. 
The long looked for, the long hoped for, the long 
prayed for end had finally come. No soldier in the 



138 Behind the German Lines 

trenches and no home in the rear received that news 
with greater thanksgiving than did the Allied prisoners 
in Germany. 

When I met the Englishmen that evening, each of 
us could hardly contain our ecstacy, as we rejoiced 
triumphantly. 

"Didn't I tell you that it was coming, boy? But 
it came sooner than any of us expected," laughed 
Gilbert. 

The next evening an English-speaking German 
sergeant came from camp, principally to get food 
from the farmers, and incidentally to tell us that 
he would keep us informed as to the departure of 
prisoners. 

"I will let you know in time and take you back to 
camp, so you will leave with the first convoy. And 
I know that you will not forget me if I treat you 
right," he hinted, meaning that he expected compen- 
sation from us either in the form of clothing or of food. 
We all assented. 

The following days passed all too slowly. We 
believed that we would be called into the camp within 
ten days, but as the days passed into a week and then 
into two weeks, we began to have our doubts and 
became restless. Our work had suddenly become 
irksome and we lived only in the thoughts of getting 
home and that as soon as possible. When the ser- 
geant came again to the village with no news and a 
few more promises, we were disgusted with the out- 
look for the immediate future. That was Sunday 
afternoon, the twenty-fourth of November. Paine 



lUeben 139 

and Moss were over from the neighboring village. 
As we sat around the beer house, we decided to walk 
into camp the next morning to see exactly how things 
were and to get some food. We fully intended to 
return, believing that we would be better off on the 
farm than waiting in the dirty Lager until the prison- 
ers were sent across the line. 

Our German sergeant accompanied us the next 
morning as far as the prison gate, where the five of 
us filed in past the guard. 

My first thought was to get any mail that had 
possibly collected in my absence, for I had had none 
since that first letter from home, received in Septem- 
ber. To my great dehght, some forty letters were 
awaiting me, together with money sent by friends in 
Paris. 

On looking up Lockwood, I found that he had been 
made the representative of the American Red Cross 
at Langensalza. It was he who had been forwarding 
the food boxes to me so regularly and who had been 
painting out all written matter on the outside of the 
boxes in the hope that there would be less chance of 
their being stolen. In all the time that I had been 
on the farm, none of my boxes had been tampered 
with, or stolen. This was surprising especially after 
what I had heard of the losses of EngHsh food parcels. 
Our American food had come in a sealed car from 
Berne, had been opened in front of Lockwood and a 
German officer and had then been moved to the 
French committee barrack, which was always under 
guard. Lockwood performed his duties conscien- 



140 Behind the German Lines 

tiously and faithfully, treating all American pris- 
oners alike, with the exception of those who were in 
the hospital, and they required an extra ration. 

When I went up to the prisoners' barracks, an 
English roll call of the old prisoners was in progress. 
Gilbert came immediately to where I was standing. 

"When they call Paine's name, 24th Royal Fusil- 
iers, will you answer for him as he did not come with 
us, and if he fails to answer this he may miss out on 
the first convoy." I agreed and we mingled in the 
crowd. In a few minutes I sang out "Here!" in 
answer to Paine' s name. An Irishman standing near 
looked me over and then remarked : 

"You ain't English; what you trying to get away 
with, Yank?" My explanation satisfied him. 

We were not the only prisoners who had become 
worried over the delay. The camp was full of men 
who had left their jobs and returned to camp in the 
hope of getting an early convoy. 

The return to camp was a pleasure, for our old 
friends were there with their experiences to relate. 
With the signing of the armistice, practically all the 
rules and details had been abolished. We from 
Illeben talked the situation over and decided it was 
better to remain in camp until repatriation. We 
had done enough farming. When the German ser- 
geant returned to accompany us past the guard at 
the gate, we told him, as we left for Illeben, of our 
decision and he agreed to go out to the village for us 
that evening. 

An American and an Englishman in camp accom- 



Illeben 141 

panied us back to the village to help us carry our 
packs. Just after leaving the Lager, we met a Ger- 
man officer who stopped us and demanded where we 
were going. Seven prisoners, walking alone in the 
country, must have aroused his suspicions. We 
explained that we were returning to our Kommandos. 
He motioned to us to proceed. 

Frau Hess gave me a questioning look as I entered 

the door. 

''No more work for me, I am going back to camp 
to-night," I said, as I began to pick up some of my 
things that were lying in the hall. 

Immediately she went to her room and after a 
moment's absence, hurriedly returned and handed 
me seven marks — my pay. 

' ' Go, and go quickly ! ' ' she ordered. 

I could not help laughing. So that was the man- 
ner in which she intended to dismiss me after my two 
months' service. But I was not to be dismissed so 
promptly, for we had all planned to have supper that 
evening in her barroom, and I wished to delay mat- 
ters for a time so that Gilbert, whose German was 
better than mine, could come over and explain. The 
Frau changed her attitude when he went into details, 
stating that if she would boil the coffee she could 
have what was left from the pound which we gave her. 
There were to be nine of us and that included the 
German sergeant. 

Our farewell meal was one that will be long remem- 
bered, both by the Frau and ourselves. The cofEee, 
together with our canned goods, consisting of beef, 



142 Behind the German Lines 

sardines, cheese, jam, and hard-tack, was a feast in- 
deed. The Httle German bar rang with our merry 
laughter and our English drowned the conversation 
between the sergeant and the Frau. We drank to 
each other's health in the tasteless German beer, and 
then to the health of our countries. We regarded 
ourselves no longer as prisoners, although the Frau 
probably still looked upon us as Schweine that had to 
be tolerated. 

As I was strapping on my pack, the Frau came up 
to me for a few parting words. She asked me to send 
her some shoes, coffee, and sardines, and also to write 
her and send her my picture, all of which I said I 
would do, believing that it was better to leave her in 
a good humor. Her presumption was amusing. I 
wondered if she thought I was so impressed with her 
household that I would continue her acquaintance. 

''My farming days are over, thank God! and now 
we are going back to Blighty," remarked one of the 
Englishmen, with a sigh of relief, as we stepped into 
the street. ''Blighty," as these men spoke of Eng- 
land, had been uppermost in their minds for many 
months, as America had been in mine. To be going 
back to that which we had dreamed of during the 
long months, back to our friends and home and coun- 
try, sent a thrill oi excitement through me. Our 
departure had come so suddenly that I did not real- 
ize the full importance of it until we were hiking back 
to camp that night, sweating under our packs, as we 
shifted them from shoulder to shoulder. 



CHAPTER VII 

LANGENSALZA 

Our guard saw us past the sentry at the gate and 
nodded a short good-night. We turned toward the 
EngHsh barrack to find our quarters. It was nearly- 
midnight and the camp was quiet. The Hghts along 
the high barbed wire fence marked the outer limits 
of the camp. Now and then a guard, like a somber 
shadow with his heavy field coat and helmet blurring 
his features, passed under a street light. For an 
instant his bayonet flashed in the Hght and his clumsy 
boots resounded on the gravel. 

As all the bunks were occupied an American offered 
to share his narrow space with me. His bunk was so 
narrow that once settled for the night under his blan- 
kets and our overcoats we were forced to lie in one 
position. I looked back rather longingly to my 
feather bed at lUeben as the hard boards made my 
bones ache; but, then, I was happy. 

The prisoners refused to do any more work after 
the signing of the armistice so that there were prac- 
tically no more details except those necessary for 
cleaning the camp, and it was not always that such 
details could be obtained. Only the persistency of 

143 



144 Behind the German Lines 

the English sergeant-major, and the sense of duty on 
the part of a few, kept the camp from becoming 
unsanitary. Once the condition of the prison was 
neglected for a few days the chances became great 
that a plague or disease might break out. Influenza 
did in fact pass through the Lager but its prevalence 
was small in comparison to the number of men in 
camp. As it was, a funeral took place nearly every 
afternoon. 

I was fortunate enough to be invited to join a party 
of Frenchmen and Americans who were messing 
together. One of the Frenchmen, who had run a 
restaurant in civilian life, did the cooking while we 
all took turns in acting as the kitchen police. As a 
great part of the American food consisted of meat 
while the French food was largely vegetable, we could, 
by combining, arrive at a happy medium, and at the 
same time help the French who were running rather 
short of supplies. Moreover we were able to buy 
potatoes and cabbage from the Russians who had as 
a matter of fact stolen them from the Germans. 
Monsieur Ponthieux served us delicious meals con- 
sidering that he did all of his cooking over a little 
portable tin stove. 

It was quite a sight to see three or four hundred 
prisoners preparing their meals over these improvised 
stoves. Before the armistice half an hour twice a 
day, noon and night, was only allowed for the cooking. 
If a prisoner had not finished in that time the guard 
had a habit of coming up unexpectedly and with a 
ferocious kick upsetting the stove and meal. When 



Langensalza i45 

I arrived in camp from Illeben, however, the men 
were cooking at all hours. 

Our breakfast consisted of coffee and bread; the 
noon and evening meals consisted of two or three 
courses. The Frenchmen had made a small folding 
table and a few empty boxes served as chairs, so that in 
a crude way we were doing light housekeeping. The 
noon hour in the French barracks presented an imita- 
tion of a huge restaurant such as is common in Paris. 
The small tables, seating three or four men, were 
crowded together, leaving only narrow aisles. The 
men lingered over their coffee and cigarettes, chat- 
ting gayly and apparently unmindful of their circum- 
stances or the inconveniences of prison life. 

The French barracks also boasted of two barber 
shops where two enterprising young soldiers con- 
tinued their civilian occupations to the great con- 
venience of the other prisoners, charging only half a 
mark for either a shave or a hair cut. 

Two days after arriving in the camp occurred the 
most appalling and pitiless example of the German 
treatment of prisoners that I had seen. There is not 
a Frenchman, Englishman, or American who has 
heard of the tragic event at the camp of Langensalza, 
Saxony, without just anger and indignation. Here 
fifteen prisoners. Allied soldiers — French for the most 
part — were massacred a few days before they were 
to be released by their German keepers. The crime 
was committed November 27, 191 8, sixteen days 
after the signing of the armistice, which, in assur- 
ing a suspension of hostilities was to give to the 



146 Behind the German Lines 

civilized world the hope that the spilling of blood 
had ended. 

Ot all the German prisons, the prison camp at 
Langensalza was the most celebrated by reason ot 
having been, in 191 5, the seat ot one of the most 
violent epidemics of typhus, which exacted an awful 
toll among the unfortunate Allied soldiers, captives 
in Germany. 

At the beginning of November, 191 8, there were in 
the vicinity of Langensalza about thirty thousand 
prisoners of the different nations of the Entente, 
among whom nearly twelve thousand were French. 
Of the total only about two thousand men were ac- 
tually interned, being located in wooden barracks; 
the rest were distributed on the farms, in the factories, 
and in the mines of the surrounding district, working 
usually in groups, named Kommandos, under the 
surveillance of a detachment of Landsturm. When 
the news of the armistice spread, the prisoners who 
worked on the Kommandos, fearing lest they be for- 
gotten in the repatriation for which they had so long 
hoped, returned in haste to camp. Many of them 
were sent back to their work with the assurance that 
they would not be forgotten. A certain number nev- 
ertheless remained in camp, so that there were about 
four thousand prisoners there on November 27th. 

To accommodate that large number it was neces- 
sary to make arrangements for new quarters in 
barracks designed to hold only half of that number. 
That was why the French soldier, Tocque, of the 
351st Infantry, a prisoner for two years, and secretary 



Langensalza H7 

of the bureau of the 5th Kompagnie (of prisoners), 
received orders from the commander of the camp to 
prepare the old canvas and wooden barracks which 
up to that time had served as a theater, for the hous- 
ing of seven hundred prisoners arriving that day from 
their Kommandos. 

These barracks, pompously called a theater by 
the prisoners who had given plays therein as a 
distraction during the monotonous hours of their 
captivity, consisted of three long adjoining structures 
built in the form of tents, roofed with boards and 
having a floor. When the soldier Tocque went there 
an hour before noonday to carry out his orders, he 
found on the inside of the barracks a certain number 
of prisoners, French, English, Italians, and Russians, 
occupied in tearing down the scenery of the theater 
and the small dressing-rooms that had served their 
purpose for the actors; that scenery and those 
dressing-rooms had been constructed by the prisoners 
themselves with planks bought with the receipts from 
the theater. Being no longer used, some of the pris- 
oners had received permission from the commander 
of the camp to take this wood, which belonged to 
them, to use for heating purposes. Winter had come 
and it is severe in that region. The unfortunates, 
profiting by the permission given them, had begun to 
remove their firewood. Some had left already, carry- 
ing cross beams and broken laths; and others, under 
the amused eyes of the German soldiers guarding 
them, began to tear to pieces the floor and the sides. 

Witnesses affirm that the Germans themselves par- 



148 Behind the German Lines 

ticipated in the demolition already commenced and 
took their share of the wood thus torn down. Seeing 
this, the soldier Tocque intervened, asking his com- 
rades to carry away only the material from the 
scenery and the dressing-rooms, insisting on the 
necessity of leaving the rest in the barracks, as it 
was to be occupied by seven hundred men arriving 
that day. Unable to make them all hear, Tocque 
went to the nearest post of the guard and asked 
that a sentinel be placed at each door of the old 
theater so as to intercept the prisoners. It was 
then about one- thirty in the afternoon. Up to 
that time the life of the camp was in every way 
normal, without the slightest indication that the 
inherent cruelty of the Germans was soon to degen- 
erate into a bloody massacre. 

Tocque waited ten minutes after having asked for 
the sentinels. It is likely, on account of the gravity 
of what followed, that the under officer of the guard 
telephoned to the commander of the camp and 
solicited orders. It will now be seen, after having 
had the testimony of witnesses, what was then re- 
solved upon by the commander, and what turn he 
decided to give to the incident. 

At the post of the guard the German soldiers 
talked it over among themselves. Two Frenchmen 
who were present overheard them say : " A patrol is 
not sufficient; a patrol would do no good there!" 
To which the chief of the post responded, ''Yes, yes, 
not a patrol, but a battalion, and good shooting!" — 
" Und richtig schiessen.'' 



Langensalza i49 

It was then that the bugler of the guard, by 
order of the under officer, chief of the post, blew the 
alarm twice. A witness related that the bugler ap- 
peared to hesitate before blowing as if he realized 
what was to follow. These facts force the con- 
clusion that from that moment the Germans fore- 
saw and prepared for an armed assault on the 
camp. 

That bugle call, which some of the prisoners did not 
even hear, could not be distinguished from other 
numerous calls which were given in the camp at that 
hour for the assembling of certain details, and thus 
they did not grasp its full warning. In one part of 
the camp, near the theater, a game of football was in 
progress. This was not even interrupted. Every- 
one continued to pursue his accustomed occupation; 
some were going to the hospital, others to the tailor 
shop, and still others of the relief committees were 
distributing food to their comrades. The rest were 
wandering around camp inoffensively, or were quiet 
spectators of the football match. 

Ten minutes passed after the sounding of the alarm 
before the first troop of the Germans — ^five or six — 
arrived on the run, led by an under officer, Kraiiss, 
coming from the north along a corduroy road. At 
the same moment another troop of as many as fifty 
men, led by a Feldwehel with revolver in hand, came 
running along a brick walk which led from the com- 
mander's office to the southeast, and began to deploy 
on the walk, pushing back the prisoners who ob- 
structed the passage; behind this body of men came 



150 Behind the German Lines 

Captain Koch, who commanded a company of Land- 
sturm stationed at the camp, very excited. 

Without demanding either by word or by bugle 
that the crowd of prisoners disperse, without ordering 
the theater to be evacuated, in fact without any warn- 
ing whatsoever, the Feldwehel fired twice with his 
revolver. Immediately rifle fire broke forth and the 
crowd was caught by the cross fire of the two German 
groups. 

The firing lasted two minutes! The dead were 
strewn on the football field and in front of the theater 
where they had fallen. Great excitement followed 
among the helpless prisoners present while those in 
the distant parts of the camp did not know what had 
happened. One prisoner raised a wounded comrade 
wishing to take him to the hospital, whereupon a 
soldier of the Lands turm ran his bayonet through 
the dying man, forcing his comrade to flee. Two 
witnesses saw that Tocque attempted to interfere 
but was brutally struck with the butt of a rifle. 

As the shooting stopped, some prisoners were 
aiding their wounded friends when they were charged 
by the young German recruits, who finally left only a 
bloody heap on the ground. Those who had re- 
mained in the committee barracks adjoining the 
theater were driven out at the point of the bayonet. 
A witness heard a German soldier exclaim with a 
laugh, "I did some good shooting!" 

Many prisoners — among them Chief Adjutant 
Lambert and Sergeants Robert, Rolland, and Bajol — 
ran into the crowd vainly trying to speak. Finally 



Langensalza 151 

Captain Koch authorized the adjutant and a cor- 
poral to go to the commander and make an explana- 
tion. It was high time! On the ground lay fifteen 
dead — nine Frenchmen, three Englishmen, two Ital- 
ians, and a Russian, and thirteen wounded. Bodies 
of the dead were picked up on the football field, in 
front of the theater, on the walks, and even in the 
barracks of the relief committee. To-day they sleep 
in enemy soil, in Langensalza, where their comrades 
have raised simple black and white stone monuments 
over their graves. 

Such is the brief statement of the facts. 

Who was responsible? The inborn brutal instinct 
of the German was of course at the bottom of it all. 
But more to be denounced than the stupid man who 
did "some good shooting" or he who plunged his 
bayonet into the wounded, is the officer who coldly 
sitting in the bureau of the commander of the camp 
planned the massacre and without a word of explana- 
tion being asked and without a warning, gave the 
command to fire. That officer, recognized by all the 
prisoners, was condemned by the testimony given by 
thirty witnesses who were questioned during the 
different inquests held at Langensalza by the dele- 
gates from Spain and Holland who had come from 
Berlin at the request of the relief committee, and by 
the officers of the French mission for the repatriation 
of prisoners — that officer was Captain Koch. 

That the massacre was premeditated, there is not a 
doubt. Witnesses established that, and their evidence 
left no question. A German soldier standing before 



152 Behind the German Lines 

the office of the commander of the camp said to a 
prisoner, ''Go, warn your comrades, those soldiers 
are going to shoot them!" It was a brutal massacre, 
commanded by a German officer, executed by Ger- 
man soldiers against unarmed and inoffensive pris- 
oners who for the most part were engaged at play. 

It is perhaps unnecessary to add that the German 
government entirely approved of Captain Koch's 
conduct in the murderous affair, as he was soon given 
advancement. Before the killing of the fifteen men 
at Langensalza he commanded a company of Land- 
sturm charged with guarding the prisoners; when I 
left France he commanded a battalion. 

At the time, I was in one of the barracks on the 
other side of the camp. As the first shot rang out, a 
breathless silence came over the room which was 
filled with a crowd of Englishmen. Then the men 
ducked for cover as the shooting continued. Our 
own excitement was over in a few minutes, yet no 
one seemed to know what had happened, and it was 
not for several days that we were able to gather all 
of the facts of the case. 

We believed that we would be sent to the border, 
Holland or Switzerland, most any day, yet the days 
passed with only promises from the Germans and 
rumors that a train was due in a day or two. But the 
days came and went and no trains arrived. On the 
other hand, prisoners were coming in from the Kom- 
mandos and the camp was more than crowded. Men 
were sleeping on the barrack floors and the rooms 
were occupied by twice their accustomed number. 



Langensalza 153 

No tenement could have been worse. The men lay 
so close to one another that it was almost impossible 
not to step on them at night. Being December the 
weather had become bitterly cold. Only by closing 
the doors did we begin to keep warm, and even then 
we were sleeping with our clothes on and our over- 
coats were used for extra covering. The air became 
vile toward morning, although at the same time the 
warmth of our bodies had taken the chilliness out of 
the air. We awoke cramped and with a heavy head in 
the morning. Would the new day bring better news? 

An American officer arrived from Berlin during the 
first week in December. As a member of a commis- 
sion for the repatriation and transportation of 
prisoners he visited the camp to inspect our condi- 
tion, and to do what he could for our release. What- 
ever the outcome of his trip was I never learned, at 
least our departure was not immediate. 

Before the shooting affair many of us had been in 
the habit of bribing our way out of camp with a piece 
of soap or chocolate, and taking strolls around the 
town of Langensalza. During this period the pris- 
oners wandered at large, frequenting the shops and 
cafes or merely walking about the streets. Before 
the armistice we had been required to salute all Ger- 
man officers. Now in passing them we showed no 
recognition whatsoever to any officers except those 
who were Allied. After the massacre, however, I 
remained in the camp lest the affair, being only an 
expression of the German hatred for the prisoners, 
might be repeated. 



154 Behind the German Lines 

One story which had its final ending in camp dur- 
ing my absence while on the farm is worthy of men- 
tion. In fact it would fill a volume in itself could it 
but be told in full. I can give only the facts briefly : 

Eighteen hundred Englishmen were captured dur- 
ing the same German advance in May in which I was 
taken. These men were put to work behind the 
German lines, working on ammunition dumps and 
roads. Their rations consisted only of soup twice 
a day, and that of a limited quantity, and almost 
negative quality. Of these eighteen hundred only 
one hundred and eighty-seven survived to return to 
the camp at Langensalza six months later. Over- 
work and starvation rations had killed the rest. Of 
the number which arrived in camp, seventy-five died 
the first ten days. The American doctor who was 
attached to the hospital reported that none of the 
remaining men would live over two years, so severe 
and so long had been the strain which they had been 
forced to undergo at the point of a bayonet. These 
facts point to a tragedy too awful to comprehend. 

During the second week in December the first 
convoy of English left for Holland. Campbell, 
Turner, and Gilbert, together with others whom I 
had known, were included in the fifteen hundred 
earlier prisoners who left at that time. I knew what 
that departure meant to them, many of whom had 
been prisoners for four years. No wonder that they 
swung their packs with high spirits and pushed 
eagerly toward the gate — they were going home! 
And their going was the next best thing to my going, 



Langensalza i55 

yet I knew that in all probability I would never see 
them again. I have never had kinder friends than 
those Englishmen nor could I know better men than 

they. 

The number of Americans in camp had gradually 
grown, both from the front and from neighboring 
camps which had been evacuated, so that our number 
was raised to forty-five. Our departure seemed 
imminent. 



CHAPTER VIII 

CASSEL — REPATRIATION 

Finally, on December i8th, we left for Cassel, 
while the few who were in the hospital were sent 
directly to Rastatt. At the station in Langensalza 
we had a five-hour wait, not leaving until six in the 
evening. The ride in the third-class coach was 
uneventful and about eight the next morning we 
pulled into the suburban station of Cassel which was 
used for the prisoners. A mile walk brought us to 
the camp which was situated on the outskirts of the 
city. Cassel was the home of Hindenburg and also on 
the neighboring mountain was the castle of Wilhelms- 
hohe owned by the ex-Kaiser. 

According to all reports we were to remain there 
only over night, going on to Frankfort the next 
morning. We accepted cheerfully the filthy quarters 
assigned us. During the first ten minutes in the 
camp, while looking for a place to sleep, the box con- 
taining my food, letters, souvenirs, and in fact every- 
thing I possessed, was stolen. The few Americans 
that were there when we arrived welcomed us with 
open arms, for their departure depended on our arrival. 

The next morning we did not leave, nor the next, 

156 



Cassel— Repatriation 1 57 

and the days began to drag by as before. The Ger- 
mans would give us no satisfaction as to the possible 
date of our leaving. Cassel was a camp similar to 
Langensalza in construction and equipment, but 
because of neglect during the few weeks after the 
armistice, it had become almost as filthy a hole as 
Laon. As all details had ceased, the lack of sanita- 
tion around the barracks had become practically 
unbearable. The prisoners of the different national- 
ities were not segregated, so that had the English or 
French tried to maintain some semblance of cleanli- 
ness around their barracks, the filth of the Russians, 
who occupied the building with us, would have 
counteracted all that could have been done. 

The condition of the prisoners at Cassel had become 
worse after the signing of the armistice. No food 
shipments were arriving, and no convoys had been 
leaving, while the prisoners were returning from their 
Kommandos daily. The same food condition even- 
tually would have existed at Langensalza had we 
remained there many weeks longer. Cassel re- 
sembled a pig pen more than a prison. To step off 
the duck walks meant to go over one's ankles in mud. 
The Russians after finishing their soup threw the 
refuse out the window where it remained in stinking 
heaps. Had not the camp been situated on a hillside 
so that the drainage was fair, and had it not been 
midwinter the place would have been a pest hole 
reeking with disease. As it was, the hospital was 
filled to overflowing and with practically no medi- 
cine for the sick. 



158 Behind the German Lines 

At night it was really dangerous to leave the bar- 
racks. The men, because of the shortage of fuel for 
cooking, had been tearing empty barracks to pieces. 
As a result the guards shot indiscriminately prisoners 
whose movements appeared suspicious to them, and 
that, taken literally, meant anyone walking about 
after dark. The crack of a rifle could be heard with 
disquieting frequency during the night. Yet the 
men who were stationed there took the situation as a 
matter of course. 

The day before Christmas, an English hospital 
train arrived to remove all the sick and wounded. 
Two or three Americans who had been reported sick 
also left on the train. 

Christmas morning broke cold and cheerless. I 
arose and made the cocoa while the others took break- 
fast in bed as that was the best means of keeping 
warm. That noon Lockwood acted as cook, and 
gave us as good a Christmas dinner as our supplies 
would permit. We had just finished when an Amer- 
ican prisoner came over and announced that we 
would leave at three that afternoon. This news was 
a wonderful Christmas present! 

That evening, as we bumped along in a third-class 
coach, some sixty Americans in the party, we agreed 
that this Christmas had brought to us more joy than 
any we had ever experienced. We had just seated 
ourselves when one of the Americans walked over 
to the German guard, a boy of about eighteen, and 
picked up his rifle which was standing in the corner. 
Opening the breach block he ejected the cartridges 



Cassel— Repatriation i59 

and threw them out of the window. He then un- 
fastened the bayonet, put it in the guard's scabbard 
and returned then to his seat. The boy guard 
smiled submissively and continued eating his supper 
of sausage and black bread. This guard was indeed 
a very different type from those who had escorted us 
into the interior of Germany, or from those who had 
done the shooting at Langensalza. 

After a dull trip the train pulled into the station of 
Frankfort about two o'clock in the morning. Ac- 
companied by a civiUan guard, who met us, we were 
taken to a lunchroom in the station and served hot 
coffee, sausage, sandwiches, and beer. This came as a 
surprise and it was quite in keeping with the pecuHar 
German notion that by a last good impression they 
could efface from our memories all that had happened 
during the past months. 

From the station our guide led us across the street 
to a hotel, the Kolnerhof, where we were assigned 
rooms. For once we had nothing over which to 
grumble. It was the turn of the German proprietor 
to be displeased, for he did not seem to welcome the 
intrusion of the sixty dirty, lousy men that trooped 
upstairs to occupy the three upper floors. As for 
ourselves, we were overjoyed at the sight of those 
real beds and the possibility of a good night's sleep. 
We tumbled in with all haste. 

The next morning about nine, before we were fully 
dressed, an American and a Swiss major who had 
come to take charge of us held a brief roll call in the 
hall, and gave us a few directions. We were to be in 



i6o Behind the German Lines 

the city for a few days, not more than three, until a 
section of American ambulances could arrive to motor 
us to Strassburg where we would cross the lines. We 
were allowed to spend the intervening time as we 
wished, only we were to keep in touch with the hotel, 
so as to be on hand for our departure. 

Our breakfast, as well as the other meals we re- 
ceived while there, was served in the main dining 
room, and was entirely Red Cross food. We pre- 
sented a strange picture in our ragged clothes as we 
sat down to meals in that large stately dining room, 
being served by the Germans in dress suits. A few 
songs that evening over our coffee brought more 
clearly to mind the fact that we were no longer pris- 
oners, but soldiers about to return to our own armies. 
It was too good to be true, but there we were within 
five miles of the French lines. 

Frankfort at that time was part of the neutral zone, 
occupied neither by the Germans nor the Allies, but 
policed by a home guard of civilians. During our 
three days in the city we did as much sight- seeing as 
possible, taking long walks. Frankfort although 
quaint in portions reminded me more of an American 
city than any that I had seen on the continent. But 
from appearances I judged that business was dull. 
The shop windows clearly revealed the condition of 
trade. In place of leather goods the shoe stores 
exhibited clumsy footwear with wooden soles and 
paper tops ; the meat markets were practically empty ; 
the clothing stores displayed some goods, but the 
prices were beyond the reach of the average individ- 



Cassel— Repatriation i6i 

ual. The stationery stores and bookshops were 
doing a good business. 

During our search for a theater the first evening, 
we asked a home guard for directions, and inquired 
whether we would be admitted, and, if so, what would 
it cost us. We were all practically without money. 
He spoke English, and was very obsequious. 

"Cost you anything? Why no! You are no 
longer prisoners, but masters of the situation. Go 
where you wish and make yourselves at home." We 
did. If we wanted to go to the moving picture show 
we simply walked in and sat down. Our appearance 
was our ticket. 

Later we dropped into a cafe. Much to our sur- 
prise, the orchestra struck up the Star-spangled 
Banner. That incident illustrates how readily the 
Germans are able to disguise their feelings, for of 
course the outward expression of friendliness was a 
mere pretense. During our stay in Frankfort of 
three days I noticed no evidence of open hostility 
toward us on the part of the civilians. While sitting 
in the cafe, a German accosted us and asked if we 
wished to get across the lines which were only a few 
miles outside of the city. When we questioned him, 
he replied that he thought we were prisoners, and 
that he would take us through the lines for a consider- 
ation. We declined with thanks. The cafes were 
crowded at night. The war appeared to have had no 
effect on that side of German life. But perhaps the 
reaction after the armistice tended to increase the 
gayety in the city. 



1 62 Behind the German Lines 

Several Germans with whom we talked expressed 
the desire that the Americans should occupy Frank- 
fort in preference to the English or the French, and 
that any occupation was better than none, for it 
would insure a relief of the food situation. Germany 
was not suffering much from lack of food in the coun- 
try, but in the cities the people were indeed feeling 
the strain of the blockade. 

On the morning of December 29th, at ten o'clock, 
a section of American ambulances rolled down the 
Kaiserstrauss and drew up before the hotel. A loud 
ringing cheer greeted them as we caught the first 
glimpse of the small American flags mounted on the 
bodies of the cars. In a moment we were on our way, 
leaving a crowd of curious Germans gaping on the 
sidewalk. The last lap of our journey had begun. 

That afternoon we passed the advance line of the 
French outposts. When I saw that poilu standing 
beside the road with his fixed bayonet and his pol- 
ished helmet I could have thrown my arms around 
his neck and greeted him in the true French manner. 
Going by way of Darmstadt and Mannheim, where 
we remained over night, and then continuing on to 
Rastatt the next day, where we were delayed for 
equipment, we crossed the Rhine, and the bridge- 
head at Strassburg, held by the French Foreign 
Legion, and, on New Year's Day, 1919, after having 
been a prisoner for seven months, I set foot once 
more in France. 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: jiim «<w|| 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IM PAPER PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 

(724) 779-2111 



